


Dancing on the Dark Side of the Moon

by RinAngel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Angst and Feels, Body Image, But also, Celebrity AU, Depression, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, Gosh do I love these boys, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of love in this one, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, child grooming, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAngel/pseuds/RinAngel
Summary: Chenle just wants to move past it, but there's no moving past a trauma that still touches him every day. Maybe this is it, forever and ever. Maybe existing is just pain.Jisungknowsthat existing is just pain. This is his cross to bear, his price to pay for fleeting fame: celebrities are all damaged goods, especially child stars like himself, who never stood a chance at normalcy.He knows this to be true, but that doesn't stop him from trying to flip the status quo, if for no other reason than for Chenle. In the moments of darkness, out of the public eye, maybe there's a chance for something real.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 42
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

I.

“Every day that we drag this out for Chenle is a day that he has to suffer. Let’s just bring this matter to an end as quickly as possible. We’ve kept it very quiet in the company. No one outside of this room knows, and I think that’s for the best.”

There were only four of them there, in that little office. The CEO, squat and beady-eyed, staring across his desk with a look appropriating sympathy. The dorm manager, young but somber, his face carefully impassive. Chenle and his mother, hands linked tight. She’d spent the morning crying in the hotel, wondering aloud how she could have sent her son of fourteen away to a foreign country by himself. _Why in the world did I sign that contract?_ she’d murmured, face buried in her hands. _The opportunity seemed too good, and I didn’t think, Chenle. I didn’t protect you. I’m your mother, and I didn’t protect you._

Chenle couldn’t think about that, though. All he could focus on was the smell of cologne that lingered in the room, faint but distinct. _He_ had been there, not long ago. It was a wonder they hadn’t passed in the hallway.

“The dance instructor in question has resigned from the company, and has been banned completely from any and all SM-affiliated events. We take the safety of our trainees very seriously here— truthfully, I see them all like children of my own.” The CEO smiled. Chenle couldn’t even think of his name. Pretty sure the CEO didn’t know Chenle’s name, either, before all of _this._

Chenle’s wrists throbbed, like there was fire trapped in his veins. The smell of cologne was giving him a headache.

“We failed you and your son, and I cannot express my apologies enough. All we can do next is try to make things right and create an environment where Chenle can heal.” The CEO and the dorm manager both bowed deeply, and for a long time. Was this _making things right_ in their mind?

“An environment where he can heal?” Chenle’s mother repeated, voice high with disbelief. “Do you expect Chenle to stay here? I won’t leave him in Korea by himself. I refuse.”

“Under these extreme circumstances, I’m certainly willing to negotiate contract dissolution, if that’s what the two of you would like. But I would hate to see Chenle put almost three years of training to waste. If you stay, we’d like for you to debut next year.” The CEO raised his head, looking Chenle in the eye as he added, “Of course, the company will pay for your medical care. Once your wrists heal, we’ll pay for the scar treatment, too. But if you’re going to debut, this needs to keep quiet, or else it will follow your career forever.”

“I’m going to debut?” Chenle spoke before his mother could. He’d been in Korea for three years, immersed in the language, and the words settled in with him before her. For some reason, he had a quick flashback of his mother standing behind the photographer when he had his first headshots taken at four years old: _Smile, Chenle! Smile like this!_

Chenle smiled.

“If he debuts, I won’t let him live in the dorms,” his mother spoke up, her voice quivering. She seemed well and truly conflicted, her eyebrows knit together, her lips shaking. Of course, she would have preferred the dissolution, but what was there after this?

“I understand your feelings, Mrs. Lee. I understand them completely. We can make alternate living arrangements for Chenle’s comfort! Does he have any family living in Korea, by any chance?”

Chenle didn’t care about living in the dorms, or scar treatment, or even the fear in his mother’s voice, which was teetering on the edge of unhinging. All he cared about was leaving that office and getting that smell out of his nose. Once they were out, once they stepped outside—

_If you tell anyone that you and I did this, you won’t debut. That’s why you need to keep it between us— keep it a secret._

Chenle had been brave anyway, he’d spoken up, and debut was still coming. Chenle had been braver and stronger than even _he_ knew that he could be, and now— now he had to debut, because he had to prove that _he was wrong._ He had to prove that it hadn’t hurt, that he could get hit and fall down and stand up again.

He wasn’t sure if it was true, but quitting wasn’t an option, he had to try. _I’ve been training for three years, officially, but I’ve actually been training my whole life._ Seventeen years was a lot of years to wash down the drain, and if he was going to do that, he’d be better off going for the knife again and cutting a little deeper, ending it cleanly like he’d meant to.

II.

Jisung was ten years old when he starred in his first commercial: it had been a commercial for a toy race car, and all of his friends had thought it was the absolute coolest. “It’s like knowing a celebrity! Man, I bet you’re going to be the first of us to get a girlfriend,” he could remember one of them lamenting. “You’re so lucky, Jisung.”

Jisung was lucky to have a photographer for a father and a pageant queen for a mother. People never failed to point it out to him. His parents were rich, his house was beautiful, and he got the best of everything in addition to the genetic lottery that he’d won. _He has my face,_ his mother used to say all the time when she was showing him off to her friends and colleagues. _I used to model in high school, you know. Shouldn’t I have some headshots done up?_

For a second, it really had been the absolute coolest.

The trouble with being famous, even a _little bit_ famous, was that fame could be fleeting. When his first commercials took off, Jisung’s mother began snapping up every opportunity she could find for him, but his real success had come from fashion modeling. And this was perhaps the thing that he hated the most. The few acting roles he’d landed were fun— reading a script was like reading a book, and he’d liked the challenge of thinking about the character he was supposed to be portraying. _How would he talk, how would he move? How can I trick millions of people into mistaking boring old Park Jisung for someone like this?_ Modeling had very little challenge, once you figured out the tricks. Jisung was a natural at posing and catching the light; there was no challenge, no excitement.

Jisung was a living doll. He understood this profoundly when he was sixteen years old, on the day that his mother brought him to the clinic where he had his rhinoplasty done. Her tone was chipper, telling him that _you need every advantage you can get in this industry_ and _you should consider yourself lucky that we can afford this for you._

Yes, he was lucky to have a mother who could copy and paste the perfect nose onto his face, even if he didn’t want it. When he told her he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to go through with it, he watched her Botoxed lips twitch and her eyes darken, but she said nothing until the surgeon came into the room: “Jisung is nervous. I think he’d prefer to have the general anesthesia. That way he can just sleep until it’s over.”

Jisung had woken from surgery feeling broken and vacant and hollow. On the car ride home, for the first and last time, Jisung put his feelings into slurred, sloppy words: _“You don’t give a shit about me. You don’t give a single shit about me. If you loved me, you wouldn’t just put on that smiling face in front of your friends and my agent. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have made me cut off a part of my face to make it better. What happened, you fucking bitch? I thought I had your face. What happened?”_

Jisung didn’t remember any answers. He went to sleep when they got home, and when he woke, his mother didn’t say a word to him. In fact, from that day onward, she never really did. He was no longer the coddled baby doll that his mother would put up a loving front for. Now, the analogy was more appropriate for a Barbie doll: clothes on and off like costumes, plastic smile molded to his face, and a pair of giant hands whisking him from one job to the next without concern for when that smile began to break.

Jisung had no say in his schedule, when he woke up, when he went to sleep, what jobs he took, what clothes he wore, what he said in interviews and on Instagram, not even in what happened to his face when his company thought a little nip or tuck was appropriate. What did he have to control, then, except food? He had a rock-solid resolve: he could refuse food for _days,_ until his mother was twitching and panicking and just about ready to _plead_ with him. Sometimes he would eat in secret, letting her worry about his wasting away, but other times the hunger pains distracted him from everything else, and he embraced them wholeheartedly. His body really could feel as empty as his soul.

“I hope you’re happy, tearing yourself apart to get revenge on me,” she yelled once, in one of her iconic meltdowns, after Jisung’s 17th birthday dinner, where he’d sat amongst the executives and models of his own agency at a cripplingly expensive restaurant and refused to eat a single bite. His father had refused to go in the first place, and was nowhere in sight once they got home— probably hiding upstairs with a bottle of booze. His mother went for the wine cooler, herself, slamming an unopened bottle dramatically on the countertop. “I hope you’re fucking enjoying this, Jisung! But just remember, when you whine about what a terrible mother I am— I raised you for seventeen years. You wouldn’t be here without me.”

Technically true. Without Jisung’s mother, what would he be? Well, he wouldn’t exist, would he? The thought felt warm. Comforting. Jisung smiled.

“Thanks for nothing, then,” he said simply, making his way up to his bedroom and slamming the door.

III.

Chenle’s mother rented a stylish little flat in Gangnam, not far from the SM Entertainment building, so that Chenle would not have to wake up too early to go practice. No expense was spared; while Chenle’s mother lived with him in Seoul, his father traveled all over for work and sent them a generous allowance every month. Chenle even took the master bedroom, at his mother’s insistence, with a gorgeous view of the city lights that soothed him as he lay in bed after practice every night, his legs aching.

Every morning, Chenle woke up at 6 AM. Not in a dorm with the other Dream members, but in a bedroom that he didn’t deserve, to the sounds of his mother who should have been jet-setting around the world with his father instead cooking him breakfast. Every morning, Chenle woke up to the reality that something in his life had gone very wrong.

And every morning, the Dream van would have to make a detour to pick him up, meaning they needed to leave their own dorm twenty minutes earlier than necessary to make their first schedule most of the time. That was probably the reason for the icy reception that he usually got from everyone except Mark. Pure soul that he was, Mark really tried.

This morning, though, the vehicle that came to pick him up was empty except for one of their managers. When he had solo schedules, it was always Seulgi that accompanied him: a short and slight woman who somehow managed to keep a chipper tone despite it being just shy of 8 AM. “Ooh. You look tired,” she pointed out at once, though not unkindly. Chenle liked Seulgi— he had a feeling that there weren’t too many genuinely nice people working as managers in the idol world, so he was thankful to have her. “That’s okay, though. Shooting doesn’t start until 10, so the stylists will have time to pretty you up.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be shooting today, honestly. I forgot.”

Seulgi chuckled. “Forgot? How could you? It’s that show, _Glow Up—_ about child stars. It’s a ‘then and now’ thing. They’ll show clips of you singing when you were little, then interview you now. You’re one of the idols that they’ve wanted since episode one, you know!”

 _This is why they didn’t want to let me go. This is why the CEO was willing to bend for me. This is why the other Dream members throw their arms around me and act like we’re best friends when they see a camera pointed our way._ Chenle had been big in China during his elementary school days; there was a period of time when every variety show wanted him, _the little boy with pipes like Mariah Carey, like Whitney Houston! You won’t believe what he can do!_ In hindsight, it made him feel like a sideshow attraction, but it had given him enough pull to keep him in Dream, despite—

_Despite the fact that I’m fucking broken. Despite the fact that I can’t even go into the dance studio without panicking sometimes._

SM Entertainment had gotten rid of the dance instructor in question, and yes, they’d paid for lightening treatments for the angry red scars on his wrists, but the idea of providing Chenle with counseling never came up. Even his mother seemed reluctant to talk about it: _Why do you want to air it out all over again, Chenle? Why do you want to keep living in this nightmare?_

“Really? That doesn’t sound so bad.” Chenle tried to smile. “Do we know who else will be there today?”

“This week it’s you, Jennie Kim—” —the powerhouse Blackpink vocalist who had started training at an astounding thirteen years old— “—and Park Jisung, who I think might be a model. I dunno, never really heard of him.”

The name sounded familiar. Chenle wiggled his phone out of the pocket in his jeans, doing a quick search and reading his results aloud to Seulgi: “Park Jisung is a South Korean actor and model. He got his start in 2012 doing commercials and catalogue modeling, and had his television debut in the 2014 drama _When You’re Not Here,_ to high critical acclaim. In 2018, Park announced that he would be focusing on modeling in the future, and in 2019, he participated in New York Fashion week, turning heads and trending internationally with his handsome face and distinctive long legs.”

Park Jisung certainly did have a handsome face: skin like porcelain, bright fox-like eyes, lips shapely and pink. In the first picture that came up, his hair was a shock of blond, his expression fashionably cold. Why didn’t models ever _smile?_

“Does he look like he’s made of plastic? Models always freak me out,” Seulgi stated, eyes on the road.

Jisung didn’t look like plastic. It was probably a filter, making his skin look so dewy and perfect, but for some reason, the first thing Chenle could think of was kissing the apple of his cheek, so pale and soft. All he could offer to Seulgi was a simple, “Not really.”

IV.

Jisung didn’t think of himself as a child star. Ten years old was a late start. Not like Zhong Chenle, who made his first television appearance at six years old, singing “You Raise Me Up” on a Chinese TV show and bringing audience members to tears. His voice had been obnoxiously high, but Jisung would have been petty to try and say that it wasn’t an amazing gift anyway. Even the program MC had tears in her eyes as she went up after to shake Chenle’s little hand.

Jisung wasn’t much of a crier when it came to music. Actually, Jisung hadn’t cried in quite awhile. The last time he could remember was when he moved out of his parents’ place, and— well. He didn’t like to remember.

The grainy little video clip on his phone ended, cutting off the audience mid-applause. His manager, Joohyun, gave a bored little hum of acknowledgement, barely glancing up from her own phone. “What are you doing, sizing up the competition?”

“I’ve seen this guy on TV before. Didn’t realize he started off as a literal fetus.”

Speak of the devil, the door opened just at that moment— none other than Zhong Chenle and his manager. He wore a black cloth mask over his face, but it wasn’t hard to guess who he was, with his hair dyed bright purple. Jisung tried not to stare until Chenle was settled and had his mask removed. If he was going to risk getting caught staring, he was going to make it worth his while.

Chenle was distinctively handsome - big eyes, full lips, a smooth and sharp jaw - but his face had imperfections that made Jisung sure that it was all natural. It made him almost feel bad, that he instinctively parsed new faces apart and appraised them in his mind, but _still—_ If Chenle were to sign with Jisung’s agency, his nose would absolutely be the first thing to go, and maybe some fillers under his eyes would do him some good. That chin, that was a big _maybe,_ depended on the makeup, he supposed. Jisung stared until Chenle’s stylist stepped in the way and blocked his view, and he quickly averted his eyes before Joohyun could notice.

He observed his own finished makeup in the mirror. He didn’t feel like himself without it anymore— he tried not to look in the mirror when he was at home, if he could help it, because he couldn’t ever keep from picking apart what he saw there. In makeup, he was flawless, he was powerful, and nothing could hurt him. He set his mouth, narrowed his eyes slightly, falling into his chic “model face” out of pure habit and tilting his head to catch the best light. It wasn’t acting - his first love - but it had its magic.

“Wow…” From beside him, just audible over the radio playing in the back of the room, Chenle spoke— and when Jisung turned to see what he was _wow-_ ing at, their gazes met. Chenle didn’t have any foundation on yet, so the pink color that flooded his cheeks was instantly noticeable. “Sorry, you just— you have a model vibe, even when you’re just sitting there. It’s kind of cool…”

“Oh… thank you.” Jisung blinked, feeling his own cheeks grow hot. Stupid as it was, he didn’t often receive compliments in person. Usually, he got the majority of his ego lifts from his Instagram comment section, where he could freely bask in it and never bother about responding. Having to acknowledge and thank Chenle made him feel oddly narcissistic, and he thought to add, “You’re taller than you were. I mean… I just watched a clip of you singing from 2008. So obviously.”

Chenle grinned, and he had an unexpectedly nice smile: not just his perfect teeth, either, but the way his eyes scrunched into two lovely little crescents above his chubby cheeks. The sweetness of it came out of left field, knifing Jisung right in the heart, a fatal blow.

Well, shit.

Chenle fell silent, eyes closing as the makeup artist began with primer and foundation, and Jisung contented himself with sneaking glances when he could. The transformation was always incredible: it only took a few brush strokes to make Chenle’s eyes wider, his lips pinker. His stylist accentuated all of his softness, making his face look rounder, sweeter. Yup, the chin worked.

The rest of the time, he spent looking over his interview script. His mother had connections in his company (and a steady flow of his earnings coming into her bank account), so of course, her hands had been all over his mostly-truthful answers.

 **Who has been your biggest inspiration in your work?**  
I’m inspired by my mother, who saw something special in me and gave me a big push into show business. When I was little, we gave up a lot for my dream. My mom worked as my agent full-time before I was signed to an agency, and together, we would spend all our free times practicing and going over lines. My mom wanted this for me just as much as I did.

 **What is the hardest part about your job?** **  
** Constantly working and traveling makes me tired. Especially when I’m doing events overseas, I get lonely, and I really miss my family. Managing my schedule is the toughest part for sure, it’s very overwhelming.

 **What is your favorite part about traveling for your job?** **  
** I’m so lucky that I get to experience cultures all over the world! I like to go sightseeing in all the cities I visit, and taste the local food. Actually, I just got back from Paris not long ago, so if my face seems round compared to usual, that’s why. The bread in Europe is too good!

No surprises. Park Jisung the Model was pure, hardworking, humble, and sympathetic, and his family supported his rise to the top. His mother loved and nurtured him, never kept him up for half the night memorizing audition lines, never forced him to weigh himself twice a day when he started gaining weight in middle school, never drank an entire bottle of wine in the middle of the afternoon and candidly told Jisung that he was a mistake that should feel lucky that he was allowed to be born.

So fucking lucky. Shimmering up among the stars, waiting to go out in a supernova.

V.

Chenle had debuted two years ago, and so he was no stranger to interviews. But doing an interview alone, doing an interview about his _training days_ of all things, was a little bit harder. The setup threw him off a bit: the three of them were on-set all at once, with two hosts to conduct the interviews, encouraging them to engage with each other and make comments. He supposed the idea was that they could all relate to each other in some way, but thinking about what he would say on the fly made his palms sweat.

Chenle had been four years old when he started appearing in ads, he revealed. Since he was twenty years old, that meant he had been in the entertainment industry for 4/5ths of his life. Jisung and Jennie both _ooh_ -ed in marvel, which only made Chenle feel tired. He’d sprinted through those first years, with no obstacles in sight. It had seemed like things would stay so easy, but then he’d come to Korea— and Korea was an entirely different animal. It was soon Jennie’s turn to answer a question, but while she was recounting the days before she was scouted by YG, Chenle was lost in the memory of a smile he still couldn’t bring himself to hate.

 _You’re in Korea all by yourself, and you’re only fifteen? You must be brave! I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Zhong Chenle._ And that hand had landed on his shoulder and made his heart leap— he’d eaten it up, eaten it all up, been perfectly complacent until it was too late.

_You can’t kiss me like that and then expect that we’re not going to go any further. I’m not going to let you keep teasing me._

The next thing Chenle knew, he was sweating and shivering at the same time, staring down at his hands folded in his lap, while Seulgi called his name and waved her finger in front of his eyes. When he refocused, his head snapping up, she breathed a sigh of relief, calling out, “He’s okay! I’m sorry, everyone, can we have just a moment?”

“We’ll take a ten minute break,” a producer decided, clearly none too happy about it but conceding anyway. “Why don’t you get him something to eat and drink? Would that help?”

“I— I didn’t really eat this morning. My stomach hurt,” Chenle mumbled, feeling his entire being flush with shame. “Noona, what happened? How long was I… out for?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Maybe ten seconds after we all noticed it. You didn’t pass out, you were just… staring.” Seulgi passed a hand gently across his forehead, the gesture just shy of maternal. “Come on. Can you stand up? You need to eat something. Let’s be quick. I’m so embarrassed.”

 _“You’re_ embarrassed? I’m the one it happened to,” Chenle mumbled. He stood with no trouble, though Seulgi still insisted on holding onto his arm anyway.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” a voice broke into their conversation without reservation, and Chenle was surprised when Jennie Kim approached him, presenting him with a bottled water and a sweet bun in a clear cellophane wrapper. “These things happen. Take care of yourself if you’re sick.”

“Oh… thank you…” Chenle accepted the offerings with a grateful bow, waving after her as she hurried off after her manager; every so often, there was a moment like this that just touched him and reminded him that there was some solidarity in the industry, too. Not everyone was a snake, or a diva, or a money-hungry businessman. There were those with empathy, too. Speaking of which— where had Jisung gone, anyway? Chenle glanced around, but figured it wasn’t worth pursuing. _Maybe he rushed off because he had to pee or something._ It was hard not to be the tiniest bit disappointed. He really would have liked an opening to talk to Jisung again, maybe just one-on-one. Ah, well. Ten minutes wasn’t much.

Breaking away from Seulgi, he caught the attention of a staff member looking over a clipboard, asking politely, “Is there somewhere nearby where I could step outside for some air?”

“This is the top floor, so if you go up the stairs at the end of the hall, they’ll take you out to the roof. Be quick, though! We don’t want to get behind schedule!”

Seulgi sighed. “Chenle—”

“Give me just a minute. I promise. I’ll be okay.” Chenle smiled. It was true, if only because it had to be. Idols were miracle workers, after all.

VI.

It was cold on the roof, cold enough to make Jisung’s face sting, but the hit of nicotine was worth it. Smoking was one of those secrets in the industry— it would look bad if his fans ever knew, but among celebrities and company staff, stress levels were so high that just about everyone did it. Besides, cigarettes quelled appetites, and Jisung’s stomach was gnawing at him for some reason. His hands were trembling, and not from the cold.

He felt jumpy, nervous with the ominous weight of what he’d seen.

Chenle had scars on his wrists.

He’d wondered how the guy could stand to wear long sleeves in such a stuffy little studio, having to sit as close as they were. A _flannel,_ even. Jisung was wearing a t-shirt himself, and he was hot even _looking_ at Chenle in his button-down shirt. Chenle seemed perfectly fine until somewhere in the middle of Jennie’s answer; Jisung, right beside him, noticed the change immediately. He’d gone rigid and pale, fidgeting with the material at his shirt cuffs, unbuttoning them so that he could scratch at the skin— and there they were, angry and pink across his wrists.

Even thinking about it made Jisung feel a little queasy. He’d never liked blood, and he couldn’t imagine cutting himself deliberately. But it resonated with him anyway, because self-inflicted wounds were self-inflicted wounds, physical or psychological. In a way, even if it was a miniscule way, they were the same.

The door to the rooftop closed with a heavy _clang_ that made Jisung cry out in surprise and drop his cigarette. Funny, though, how his first instinct was to snatch up the cigarette before even seeing who it was that had caught him. “I’m sorry!” A voice came from above him, a voice with a distinctive accent. “Are you okay? You haven’t burned yourself, have you?”

Jisung looked up and met Chenle’s eyes with a faint smile. He was just too pure— violet hair and pink cheeks, like a valentine.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I was wondering the same about you, though,” Jisung replied easily, extending the still-lit cigarette towards Chenle as an offer. “Want some? Might put some zing back in your step.”

“I don’t smoke,” Chenle replied, none too subtle about his distaste as he turned away from the cigarette and instead leaned against the rail at the edge of the rooftop. It was pretty outside— the clouds had broken, making the overcast morning bright for a moment. “I’m fine. Just tired. Jennie gave me some bread, and that helped a bit.”

“That’s good.” Jisung exhaled his lungful of smoke and then dropped it to the cement and stomped it out quickly, half-smoked. He probably didn’t have time to finish it, and Chenle was making him feel like shit about his choices. _Besides, we’re the same. Both destroying ourselves for some short-term benefit, some rush._ “So… anxiety, huh?” When no immediate answer came, Jisung shrugged. “I get it, too. Really bad. Lots of people in entertainment do, but we’re paid to keep our mouths shut, so…”

“Is this how you always strike up conversations with people that you meet?”

Jisung shrugged. “Misery loves company. I have an inner sad-radar.” He couldn’t mention that he had seen Chenle’s arms, no way. Better to let him think he was some weirdo. “I dunno. Sorry if I’m freaking you out. I’m harmless, I promise. Should we go back inside before I say anything else unsettling?”

Chenle seemed taken aback, and then he smiled— there was that captivating smile once again, with rosy cheeks that Jisung just wanted to pinch. How did he still seem so authentic, so _real?_ “I’m not unsettled. I’m amazed that you could read me so well when we’ve just met, actually.” Chenle’s smile wavered, looking sad for a moment, before he pushed himself off the railing and started for the door. “Though I guess we should go, shouldn’t we? More emotional wounds to press on.”

Jisung was still genuinely worried that he’d done something to hurt Chenle, until the other said _this_ and made him laugh. Maybe for a second it had hurt, but it must have felt good to remember that he wasn’t alone. At least, it always felt good to Jisung— misery loves company, as the saying goes.

It was too early to say anything, but as Jisung followed Chenle back inside, he felt an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest.

VII.

 _“Is anyone practicing right now?”_ Chenle typed into the Dream group chat as he sat on the edge of his bed, debating getting in his pajama and calling it a night. _“It would be cool if someone could help me work on the last part of the We Go Up choreography, so the dance teacher doesn’t skin me alive tomorrow.”_

Chenle returned from the studio early in the evening, enjoying the rare opportunity to eat at a halfway decent time with his mother. He was quiet throughout, only half tasting everything and providing simple answers when prodded about his day’s schedule. “It was just a standard TV interview. I’ll ask my manager when it airs so you can see it!” He didn’t mention that there had been others, though it would have made no difference either way. Truthfully, he simply wasn’t sure what he would want to tell his mother about Park Jisung. _He was nice— wasn’t he? It was hard to tell, exactly, but he made me feel like he could see me._

Not so with his groupmates. Jaemin was the first to see the message, but didn’t respond. Then Jeno, and finally Mark; it was the leader who quickly typed out a message: “ _sry we’ve been in the practice rm all day without you...i think everyone’s exhausted.”_

Chenle sighed, He couldn’t blame them… well, that was what he tried to tell himself, anyway. But his members knew, didn’t they? Even if none of them knew what had happened those years ago, surely they must have realized that Chenle was uneasy going into the SM building by himself, especially at night? He sighed and rolled onto his back in bed, defeated.

When he backed out of the Dream group chat, back to his KakaoTalk friend list, he smiled faintly. He didn’t have many contacts. Just his groupmates, Seulgi and the other manager who lived at the dorm, a couple friends from his school days that he hadn’t talked to in ages.

And now, Park Jisung. “pjs0202”. He’d slipped his ID to Chenle as a folded piece of memo paper on the corner of his makeup table after the interview, and Chenle wasn’t sure why it gave him such a thrill, but he added him to his contacts immediately. Now the name was just sitting there, no avatar, no status message, no hint as to what Chenle should even say.

He wasn’t sure why, but he really, _really_ wanted to message Jisung. His fingers were itching to type out a thousand questions, and as he opened a new chat, he thought about how he should begin. _How did you know what I was feeling? Do you really know how fucking broken I am? Are you broken in the same way? Does it build up for you, too? Like toxic gas under pressure? Making you feel like you’re going to blow up if you don’t say it?_

_I need someone. Please be friends with me, because I don’t think I can take much more._

Thinking about it all made his throat tight with tears. His thumbs were poised to type, hesitating for a long time, before he typed out simply, “ _Hi.”_

It felt, sometimes, like Chenle was on his own little island in an endless sea. He’d heard other idols describe the feeling before, of having no one who understood their plight but each other, and Chenle didn’t even have _that._ The other Dream members didn’t have any idea what he’d been through. In fact, he could still hear Jeno’s accusation that day in the practice room— _You got our dance teacher fired because he didn’t bend over backwards and kiss your ass. How much money did your rich daddy have to give the CEO in order to push that forward, and get yourself put in the group on top of it?_

Up until then, he’d wondered if it had happened to anyone else. But the reactions of others to seeing _him_ leave, their outrage at losing one of the best dance teachers in the country, made him realize that he was unique in his experience. He’d been singled out. Maybe he’d looked weak, easily manipulated.

_Relax, he’d said. I’ll make you feel good, he’d said. But it had only hurt, and time hadn’t eased the pain._

Chenle wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. No more thinking about it. If he cried, he’d look like shit the next morning. Cutting was no longer an outlet, but he could still pinch the tender skin of his inner elbow, snapping his focus back to the present. Pain was always a refreshing distraction.

He picked up his phone from next to him on the pillow, and he couldn’t keep from sighing. Jisung hadn’t responded, hadn’t even read his message. _Why would he give me his Kakao ID, anyway? This is stupid._ After all, the question wasn’t how broken they were, it was how well they held it together. Maybe Jisung had realized that too late.

VIII.

Jisung couldn’t control much, but he could control the number on the scale, he could control the numbers that went into his body, and that was enough.

An egg was 70 calories, a carrot was 25, and that was 95 for the evening, 450 for the day. He kept track of it all, logged it even, so that he could look back and feel proud of himself for something. 450, not bad.

While he waited for the egg to boil and chopped the carrot up into neat sticks, his phone was half-wedged between the cushions of his living room couch, so he didn’t hear it buzz with Chenle’s message. But when he took a seat fifteen minutes later and dug it out, he saw the unfamiliar name, “dreamingcl”, and his heart sped up.

_“Hi.”_

Jisung was taken aback. He hadn’t expected much of anything when he gave Chenle that piece of paper. He’d done it thinking, perhaps naively, that Chenle would one day want to talk to someone about his problems. But he hadn’t expected contact so soon, or so bluntly. _Hi._ Chenle was really bored enough to talk to him?

_“Hi! =^^= Are you having a good evening?”_

Jisung texted nicer than he spoke. It was a habit, from typing up Instagram posts, but he would have wanted to text stupid emojis to Chenle, anyway. He wanted to imagine he was smiling on the other end.

Chenle’s reply came quickly: _“Good? Eh. I’m beat. I have dance practice tomorrow and I don’t want to go.”_

Jisung smiled faintly. _“I did a little ballet in elementary school. Want me to put on a purple wig and go for you?”_ He sent the message, paused to pop a carrot stick into his mouth. Chewed slowly, delayed swallowing. Then, he supplemented: _“I guess I should ask what kind of song it is before I offer…”_

_“Haha you want an honest answer?”_

_“Well yeah…”_

_“It’s a dumpster fire of a song, just like the last 3.”_

Jisung couldn’t keep from laughing aloud, which made him feel like an idiot when he was sitting alone in his apartment. He pressed his lips together reluctantly, trying not to even smile too much. _“Tbh I’ve never listened to you guys. Give me a song rec and I’ll check it out!”_

_“Ahh you might lose all respect for me… please, preserve the image of me that you have right now, don’t ever watch a Dream MV…”_

_“You said you’ve only promoted 3 songs? I’ll just watch them all, then.”_

_“T_T You can watch them but do not try to engage me in any conversation about them or I’ll block you”_

Jisung turned on his Smart TV, cast up the videos one by one in order of upload. In “Chewing Gum” they were cheeky young schoolboys; in “My First and Last” they were lovesick high school students chasing after a _noona_ love interest; and most recently, “We Young” had portrayed them against a colorful cartoon backdrop, dressed in little white sailor’s uniforms. Chenle was easy to pick out with his purple hair.

_“Hahaha ok I see what you mean…”_

_“Haha yourself >.< I truly feel bad for complaining because this is a great opportunity for me… but if I could change one thing, I would pick music I actually liked.” _

_“But at least your voice is nice. It sounds pretty.”_

Chenle read the message, and for a long time, nothing happened. Jisung couldn’t bring himself to eat, eyes trained on the text on his phone screen. The TV autoplayed something from a music show, but Jisung barely took note.

Finally, Chenle responded. _“Renjun and Donghyuck are the main vocalists! They carry most of the songs.”_

_“I know, but I don’t care. I still like it.” “I’m a strange person. Sometimes I just like or dislike things strongly for reasons I can’t describe. It’s like that.”_

Fuck, why, why was he like this? He wished Kakao let him take messages back.

_“ >//////< Thank you… I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, now or earlier today, either. But I’m thankful. Things have been difficult.” _

_“I told you. Like attracts like. :) I just wanted to make sure you had someone.”_ After all, he thought grimly, the world was a cruel place. He, too, knew exactly what _nobody_ felt like.

IX.

Chenle wasn’t expecting to keep in touch with Jisung, with the way the younger had talked about his packed schedules during the interview. The work he got in New York and Tokyo. The domestic shoots, which sometimes ran crazy hours, or the deceptively simple commercials that took all day to film. Jisung was busy, so why would he waste what little free time he had on Chenle?

 _“What are you doing today?_ 👀”

But the truth was, Jisung messaged him more than any of his members did: sometimes random questions and conversation probes, other times jokes or funny observations from his life. He didn’t seem bothered if it took Chenle all day to reply, but if Chenle was sitting in his dressing room bored or crammed into the van with nothing to do, Jisung would sometimes text back and forth with him for hours.

_“We’re recording some new tracks today. I always end up recording last… waiting around is so boring, but I can’t complain, being the youngest. Haha.”_

_“Lol… you’re probably sick of talking to the only people you get to talk to 24/7. And I’m probably not that much more exciting than they are… sorry…”_

The response made Chenle snort in amusement, which drew Jaemin’s attention up from his own phone, just for a minute. When there were cameras around, Chenle became the darling maknae, lovingly teased and spoiled with affection. In particular, Jaemin liked to play up their relationship as the two youngest, and the fans seemed to love it whenever he would sneak a kiss onto Chenle’s cheek and make him blush. But when it was just them, everyone was so _cold._ Chenle had hoped to grow close to Renjun, the only other Chinese-speaker in the company, but even he didn’t seem to feel any solidarity towards him.

_Chenle, traitor._

_“Honestly? You’re a hundred thousand times better than them. I don’t really like anyone in my group… except maybe Mark.”_

_“You’re a really good actor then! I saw you guys on Weekly Idol… Jeno giving you a piggyback ride was too cute lol.”_

_“It’s not that I don’t want to be close! I want to have friends in Korea. It’s really lonely. It’s just… complicated with them.”_ Chenle felt pathetic, that even typing this up made his throat tighten with self-pity and frustration. He shook his head quickly, trying to dismiss it. _“Btw please don’t tell anyone about this. It would probably break a lot of fans’ hearts if they knew we weren’t close.”_

 _“Hey, listen. You don’t need to worry about me repeating what you tell me. I’m not that kind of person.”_ Chenle’s phone lit up with this message, and then another: _“Besides, I don’t have any friends to tell, even if I WAS that kind of person. I’m a hermit.”_

A smile played on Chenle’s lips. They’d both been alone, he supposed, and now they had each other. And maybe he didn’t know Jisung very well, but talking to him was certainly better than keeping all his thoughts to himself. And besides— he trusted Jisung, for some reason. The model had an earnest sweetness to him, which Chenle was only disappointed that he couldn’t witness in person.

 _“I don’t have any friends except you. And my mom_ 😖 _I’m so cool I know”_

_“Wow, you have one more friend than I do, don’t brag…”_

“Chenle,” Jaemin’s voice broke into his thoughts, harsh with irritation. “Are you going in or what? Quit zoning out.”

Chenle’s head snapped up, his attention yanked away from his phone. Before him, he could see the window into the recording booth, the microphone waiting for him. Mark had been in there there before, but clearly he’d finished up. “Right. Sorry, hyung.” Chenle quickly bowed his head to Jaemin in apology as he stood up. On camera, he and Jaemin usually spoke informally to each other (“We’re too close to worry about honorifics,” Jaemin always said, often with his arm around Chenle’s shoulders), but when they were alone, Chenle wasn’t about to take the chance.

The recording booth was such a comfortable place. Chenle was glad for that: he might not always like the songs he had to sing, but he still liked singing them, strange as it sounded. Singing was cathartic. Like throwing up. Like bleeding. The way his voice felt after a vocal lesson, pleasantly worn, he loved it.

This time it was an acoustic love song— cheesy as fuck, of course. He’d hated it when he’d listened to the demo, but for some reason, reading the lyrics there in the booth, after his talk with Jisung, they felt at least the tiniest bit _relatable._

_“Ready to go, Chenle? We’ll have you start at the beginning of the second verse.”_

Chenle nodded, taking a couple preparatory breaths before signaling to the producer that he was ready.

 _“Truthfully, I have flaws, I have imperfect,_ _  
_ _All of it makes me feel small,_  
_But we can fill those gaps within each other,_ _  
And maybe one day I’ll forget that I was empty.”_

X.

_“Sorry if I bother you by texting you all the time…”_

_“Maybe I like you texting me all the time. You’re a sweetheart.”_

_“._. Don’t tease me…”_

_“I don’t waste my precious time typing things I don’t mean.”_

“Park Jisung, you are going to drive me insane,” Joohyun scolded in obvious exasperation, and a second later, his phone was whisked out of his hands with a _woosh_ that he could almost hear. “Who are you texting all the time these days?”

“At least he’s waiting and texting _in between_ makeup steps, and not trying to stare at his phone screen through a cloud of powder,” the stylist working on his face piped up dryly in his defense as she came back at him with a loaded makeup brush. She was ready to begin on his eyes, his least favorite step in the process: it was hard to resist rubbing and itching them, and his nose was already beginning to tingle from some loose powder in the air, a warning that he should be ready to sneeze and potentially fuck everything up.

 _“You_ were the one who told me I should start networking,” Jisung replied indignantly, doing his best to keep his eyelids from twitching as his face was worked on. He wasn’t exactly sure what the completed look would be, but it seemed dark and heavy, definitely something high-fashion and editorial. _(High-fashion_ and _editorial_ always seemed to go hand-in-hand with wearing enough makeup to look like a different goddamn person. Not that Jisung minded. Who would want to be _him?)_

“That’s what you’re doing? Networking?” Even with his eyes closed, Jisung could perfectly picture Joohyun scrolling through his KakaoTalk messages. Normally, he didn’t care about his manager using his phone, because he rarely used to for things outside of work, but the idea of her seeing a conversation with Chenle left sort of a bad taste in his mouth. And sure enough: “This ‘dreamingcl’ sure is a lucky lady. You’re so smooth!”

“Don’t read my messages,” he stated firmly, trying and failing to keep the minor irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t sure _why,_ though. Keeping emotions out of work was always so easy! Hearing the short buzz of another text message, he squeezed his fingers tight, itching to get his hands back on his phone. “Uh— I mean, you can read that one to me. But then put my phone in my bag.”

“Let’s see. She says…” Joohyun paused for a second, and then giggled. “She says ‘I feel like I complain to you more than anything, glad you’re okay with that, LOL. Speaking of which: running on 3 hours of sleep today, and now have to memorize a script for some Seoul tourism PSA, please snipe me through the window and put me out of my misery if you get the time.’ Wait, are you dating another _model?”_

“We’re not dating! Now put my phone away and stop trying to live vicariously through me, _noona._ I know, I’m young and attractive, my life must seem so glamorous and exciting to you, but still, it’s rude.”

Dating another model? Well, really, Jisung couldn’t deny how it looked— he found himself wondering, for the first time, how it looked to Chenle. Like everything else Jisung did, he didn’t think that hard about giving Chenle his Kakao ID. If Chenle messaged him, so what? If Chenle tossed the paper in the garbage without a second thought, so what? If they messaged back and forth for a couple weeks and then got too busy for each other, so what?

But if Chenle was looking at these messages from Jisung and wondering _just what_ to call this thing between them… well, Jisung wasn’t sure, in that case. Up until now, he’d never thought about it. Unfortunately for him, a large component of his job involved sitting still and quiet while people preened over him, which gave his mind plenty of time to wander and think about every possibility.

It was a mindlessly easy shoot. The concept was gothic, dark eyeliner and red lipstick, aristocratic white silk paired with a black cape. Classic, mysterious, and romantic. Jisung had two old standbys when it came to facial expressions - hardened and severe, or blank and dreamy - and either of them would work equally well for something so basic. Mind empty, body perfect, pose, pose, pose. Nobody cared what was going on inside, as long as the outside was impeccable. His soul was decaying, but _damn,_ he’d never looked better.

Just as soon as they were done, when Jisung received the go-ahead to slip into the bathroom and remove all that heavy makeup, he took his bag with him so he could reply to Chenle's message. He’d been thinking about it for well over an hour, just… well, wondering. Stressing, if he had to be honest.

_“You can do it! I have so much faith in you… and if not, coffee works WONDERS. I could buy you some on your next day off, if you wanted.”_

If Chenle was looking at these messages from Jisung and wondering just what to call this thing between them, then that made two of them. All he really knew was that Chenle could talk to him for hours without looking at his face, and that revelation seemed stupidly, _stupidly_ special.


	2. Chapter 2

XI.

Chenle’s heart was racing,  _ racing,  _ and for several seconds he didn’t know where he was. He was aware of his heavy winter comforter draped across him, the blue wash of light across the wall from his digital alarm clock, but his mind was still half-immersed in the pictures behind his eyelids.

_ You don’t need to cry, Chenle. My good boy. You need to relax to make it feel better, okay? That’s right— hyung’s going to make you feel amazing, just stay quiet, just be good. _

From what Chenle had read, it was common for victims of trauma to repress what had happened to them, to the point that the could only remember through therapy. Chenle  _ wished _ he could repress things, at least partially. He’d spent the years since debut unnerved by all the fine details that his brain held onto. The sour smell of beer on his breath. The press of a clammy hand over his mouth. His heavy, awkward weight making the bedsprings protest on Chenle’s behalf.

“No,” Chenle whispered, pressing firmly on his wrist and invoking a long-hidden pain to bring his mind back to the present. “No, no, no, no.  _ Fuck.  _ Not tonight, please…” It was 2:13 in the morning, and Dream was holding rehearsals the next day for their comeback showcase. He needed to sleep, but after a nightmare, getting himself settled again would be all but impossible.

Trembling, his hand sought out his phone from his night table. At the very least, Instagram or Twitter would serve as  _ some _ kind of distraction (positive or negative, did it even matter?), but as soon as he unlocked his phone, he noticed that there was an unread message from Jisung, and the thought just about made his heart melt. He quickly tapped the KakaoTalk icon, leaving the conversation from earlier unread and simply typing:  _ “I’m having a really really REALLY bad night. Stupid but I kind of wish you were awake. These are the times I feel the most alone.” _

Chenle closed his sleep-deprived eyes, which felt like they were being polished by coarse sandpaper every time he blinked. He was deliriously tired, to the point that he mistook his phone vibrating almost immediately on his chest as a figment of his imagination. He would have just lay there, probably, feeling sorry for himself, if the device hadn’t buzzed a second time.

_ “Your wish is my command!” “Sorry, corny… I’ll be serious, I promise. Is everything okay? Why are you awake so late? ._.” _

_ “Just… freaking out over stupid stuff. As per usual. I feel overwhelmed. It feels like too much, sometimes.” _

_ “If you’re up thinking about it in the middle of the night, obviously it’s not stupid to you. I’m sorry you’re feeling so overwhelmed… Idols can’t call in sick, really, can they?” _

Chenle wiped his cheeks furiously with the back of his right hand. Even when he was alone, he hated crying. He hated listening to his own sad little sobs, the only sound in the apartment, imagining his mother listening to him and blaming herself across the hall.  _ Ugh, _ and then thinking about it only made him want to cry more. While he was focused on this, his phone went off once more:

_ “Is it okay to call you? We don’t have to talk about the sad thing if we don’t want, we can talk about anything you want. But a voice might help.” _

The suggestion made Chenle’s stomach drop, the sort of feeling he got at the top of a roller coaster, right before the big plunge. He’d never been great on the phone— he found it awkward to talk to a person he couldn’t see. But in the drowning silence, with whispers of  _ his _ voice still ringing in his ears, Chenle was ready to try anything for a moment’s peace. Besides, he could barely remember Jisung’s voice, it had been so long. And if they were friends—  _ were  _ they friends? It was so hard to tell.

_ “Okay… I just need to whisper. My mom is a light sleeper.” _

It didn’t take long for Chenle’s phone to light up with a silent call, and he allowed himself a moment of preparation. Deep breath in, deep breath out,  _ answer. _ “H-Hi…”

“Hi,” Jisung’s voice sounded similarly uncertain: low and quiet, with an endearing little rasp to it that brought that morning on the studio rooftop back fresh to Chenle’s mind. “How are you doing?”

“I’m still freaking out a little bit,” Chenle found himself talking more slowly than usual, enunciating his words. The very notion of making a mistake or mispronouncing a word made him feel preemptively embarrassed, but with the promise of hearing Jisung’s voice again, he’d struggle through. “Idol life moves so fast. I feel like I barely have time to catch my breath, sometimes. Sometimes I think it would be easier on everyone if I gave up. I mean… my mom is living here with me, I told you that, right? She should be home with my father, but they only see each other a few times a year since I debuted. My mom thinks I’m too fragile to take care of myself.”

“Oh…” Jisung didn’t exactly sound surprised, but anyone could tell that he didn’t quite know how to reply. It made Chenle feel suddenly bad for dumping so much on him, but Jisusng spoke on anyway, “Don’t quit on someone else’s behalf. It sounds like your mom supports you a lot. She knows how strong you are. You’ve been a celebrity since you were four years old!”

Except there was one big difference between Chenle and the rest of the Dreamies, who scarcely saw their parents—  _ their parents didn’t have a reason to fear for them. Their parents hadn’t seen them so close to breaking that they’d sliced their arm down to the bone. _

“Maybe. But anyway… yeah, no more sad talk. What are  _ you _ doing up at 2 in the morning? Don’t you have to work tomorrow, too?”

XI.

That was a pretty good question. Jisung wasn’t doing much in particular: the TV was on but muted, and the herbal tea he’d brewed to help himself fall asleep had been stone-cold an hour ago. He was tired, but as it often happened now, sleep just wouldn’t come.

“Yeah, I have a photo shoot in the afternoon. I’ll drag myself through, though. I always do.” He flopped back on the couch, trying to get comfortable while simultaneously trying to remember how to have a phone conversation.  _ What do normal people talk about? _ “It’s an ad for spring clothes, even though it’s December— because, you know, planning and stuff. But anyway, I had to shave my legs and they feel all itchy and irritated now. It sucks.”

Chenle hesitated and then tentatively laughed. Clearly, this was  _ not _ the conversation that he’d anticipated when he answered Jisung’s call. “That sounds terrible, I’m  _ so _ sorry. I don’t even like shaving my face, so I can’t imagine.” Jisung had never really thought one way or another about accents before, but Chenle’s accent was adorable— he was half-inclined to tell him to just keep saying more words and let Jisung drift off to the sound of his voice. “I don’t think I’ve asked you this before, but… do you  _ like _ being a model? Like, if you could go back in time, would you do it again?”

“I thought we said no sad things.”

“Oh, uh— I mean, you don’t have to answer. Sorry…”

Jisung chuckled silently. “Nah, I’m just teasing. Truthfully, I think being a model is boring. I  _ liked _ acting, once upon a time, but there’s more money in the business of being skinny and pretty.” Would he do it again, any of it? That was a loaded question. If not for modeling, Jisung wasn’t sure if he would have found  _ performing.  _ And while he might have hated living on vitamin supplements and letting his company director prescribe face fillers and procedures to follow the trends, there was still a certain thrill in having all eyes on him. “Yeah, I guess I’d do it again, but mainly because I’m an attention whore.”

Chenle laughed, this time less awkwardly. “Ahh, so you must be pretty happy right now? Unscheduled 2 AM attention?”

“Yeah, you’re a good hyung. You spoil me. I like talking to you.”

“You sound sleepy, though.” Jisung didn’t miss the way that Chenle dodged the compliment (he seemed to be an expert at that), but he’d been missing the exhaustion in his own voice all this time, causing him to slur his words a bit more with each sentence. “If I’m such a good hyung, why don’t you listen to me and go to sleep, yeah?”

“You were the one who wished for me to be awake. If you need me, I wanna be here.”

“I think I just needed to hear someone’s voice for a second,” Chenle said faintly. He sounded tired himself. “I’m okay, though. Really. I’m— I’m always  _ okay, _ so don’t feel like you need to watch over me too hard, or worry yourself. My company is good to me, and my mom frets over me constantly. I’m in excellent hands.”

_ Oh. _ So Chenle was telling him to back off. Jisung wasn’t offended, or— well, he  _ tried _ not to be offended. Every so often, he had to stop and remind himself how weirdly he and Chenle had met. Jisung had swerved out of his lane and into Chenle’s, an interference that was never meant to happen, and if he’d just minded his own business that day, they would have been proceeding just the same without each other. He liked to think that he was just as big a part of Chenle’s life as Chenle was of his, but the reality was probably a sad negative on that.

“Okay, hyung. I trust you. I hope you sleep well.” Still, winding up the phone call felt bittersweet. Jisung wanted to  _ talk, _ not about anything in particular, just to hear Chenle keep talking back. “You can call me whenever you need something, okay? I’m pretty good about answering.”

“I’ll call you the next time I can’t sleep,” Chenle agreed, voice edged with the beginnings of a giggle that warmed Jisung to his toes. “Goodnight, Jisung. And thank you. And I’m sorry— for being so awkward on the phone, I mean.”

“It’s okay. I mean… you’re not.”

“Yes I am. So are you.”

“Ahh. Fuck, you’re right.” God, Jisung’s brain was short circuiting, it was too hard to know the perfect way to sign off, without sounding too eager (a lie) or too heartsick (painfully true). “Goodnight, Chenle hyung.” He hit the “end call” button before he could stop himself, and he sighed as he melted back onto the couch and closed his eyes.

Jisung’s brain was  _ buzzing. _ Funny, people didn’t tend to think he was very deep, but Jisung was always thinking— probably to his detriment, because the things he thought about were rarely  _ good. _ But that night, Jisung’s brain was buzzing in a wholesome way, happy and nervous all at once.  _ He said he’d call me again. _

Maybe Jisung wasn’t a big part of Chenle’s life. Maybe he was a freckle. A speck of dust. An  _ atom. _ But he was there, and maybe he’d end up meaning something to one person in the limited time that he had. That would be nice.

XIII.

“I’m just tired. I’m just  _ done. _ He shouldn’t be here, he doesn’t belong here!”

Jaemin had taken Renjun out into the hallway to “cool off”, but obviously it wasn’t working. His words were so absolutely, brutally  _ cold,  _ with echoes of Jeno’s accusation that haunted Chenle’s dreams far more often than they should have.  _ How much money did your rich daddy have to give the CEO to put you in Dream? _

“I’m tired of having to stay here late because  _ he _ keeps fucking up the choreography! Isn’t it just like when  _ seonsaengnim  _ corrected his dance and he started crying? He should have left the company back then! He’s deadweight!”

Shocked into silence, all Chenle could do was press the cool, wet cloth that his manager had fetched him against his busted lip. It would take a miracle for it to heal all the way before their MV shoot later in the week, but when it came down to it, Chenle still had a feeling that they’d blame him for fucking up so many times, not Renjun for decking him. Everyone else was silent. Even the manager. Even  _ Mark, _ who suddenly seemed to find his shoelaces more interesting than anything else in the world at that moment.

When Jaemin came back into the room, his eyes were dark, and of course they carefully avoided Chenle’s gaze. “It’s almost 11 PM. We might as well call it a night, don’t you think? Renjun is still just about ready to snap, and Chenle is bleeding, so…”

“So we’ll have to come in extra early tomorrow and fix all the steps we couldn’t work on today,” Donghyuck huffed, shouldering his bag a bit more aggressively than he needed to. “Chenle, why don’t we just change the formations and put you in the back?”

Chenle felt light-headed. What the fuck did it matter, really? He agreed, just to end it.

Chenle was dropped off at home first, and as expected, the apartment was totally dark. Sometimes it was depressing, to leave before the sun was fully risen and not even have the chance to greet his mother when he came home in the middle of the night, but there was no way that he’d want to face her the way he was, all shaken up. Still, he could already tell he’d be too wired to sleep.

_ “Jisung-ie? You awake?” _

_ “Hhhnhhhnnngg” _

_ “Ah… is that a no?” _

_ “That’s a stretching sound. I just woke up from a nap.” _

_ “But its so late!! Wtf” _

_ “Anytime can be naptime” “Why are YOU awake? Can’t sleep?” “Shall I call and sing a lullaby for the fussy baby?  _ 😌”

Chenle smiled just slightly, despite himself. Smiling hurt.  _ “I just got back from practice. Outside my building now. My mom’s asleep, and I just feel… idk. Lonely?” _

Jisung saw the message immediately, but it took awhile for a response to appear. Just when he was thinking that maybe he should step inside just to get out of the cold, Jisung’s response came:  _ “Come over?? I’m probably gonna just binge dramas for a little while, if you wanna come veg with me on the couch.” _

Come over? The words made Chenle nervous - going somewhere unauthorized, while allowed, was always a risk if someone saw and took it the wrong way. But at the same time, this wasn’t a girl, it was  _ Jisung, _ who seemed to have a squeaky clean image and no past controversies. Jisung would be safe.

_ “Uhh where do you live? I’m in Gangnam.” _

As it turned out, Jisung’s apartment was just a few blocks away from Chenle’s, and it was a pleasantly refreshing walk with the chilly wind at his face. By the time he made it to Jisung’s building - a small luxury apartment complex - his cheeks were so red from the wind that he doubted Jisung could tell he’d even been crying.

His blood was rushing in his ears when he pressed the doorbell, and he shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other as he waited nearly thirty seconds for some kind of response. Normally, meeting in person was less scary than a phone call— but as it turned out, the rule changed when the guy you were talking to was a supermodel.  _ Ugh, I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Models are just like anybody else. _

But of course, when Jisung opened the door, that thought process nearly went out the window. Jisung was barefaced, black hair unbrushed, wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of blue flannel PJ pants, but his eyes still sparkled when Chenle smiled, and  _ it was enough.  _ “Hey, you!” But then the smile dissipated just as quickly as it appeared, and Jisung’s eyes were somber as he looked Chenle’s face from top to bottom. It would have been hard  _ not  _ to look at the bottom, with his lip swollen from Renjun’s fist. “Well, shit. What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?”

Chenle touched his bottom lip gingerly before he could think about it. “Ah, no… n-not really, I mean…”

“Wait. Come inside first. I’ll get you some ice,” Jisung suggested gently, stepping aside. “Uh, sorry. The floors are cold… here.” As Chenle took off his shoes, Jisung stepped out of his slippers and offered them to Chenle— a simple gesture that made Chenle’s heart twist with its kindness. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. I had dance practice all evening, and then we were going to get dinner somewhere, but…” Chenle’s throat felt tight, and he winced internally. No, this was a bad idea. A  _ bad _ idea. He was going to fall apart in front of Jisung, like a child.

“Let me make you something, then. Is ramyun okay?”

XIV.

Jisung was so thankful that Chenle said yes, because he couldn’t cook much more than instant noodles. Otherwise, Chenle would be stuck with the things that Jisung bought for himself: grapes, celery sticks, rice cakes, and so many boiled eggs that he was starting to become disgusted by the taste.

Luckily, Chenle didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as Jisung grabbed an icepack from the barren freezer and grabbed a package of noodles from the cupboard over the stove. “Wow… your apartment is really nice! Do you live here all by yourself?” When Jisung looked back at him, Chenle was gazing in admiration at the pristine stovetop, the two ovens built into the wall, the extravagant hanging lights above the island counter. Clearly, it was a kitchen meant for more use than Jisung gave it.

“Yeah, I moved in a few months ago,” Jisung answered shortly, feeling an uneasy tickle going up his spine as he placed a small pot of water on the stove.  _ My mom makes it out like she pays my rent, even though all the money in that bank account has come from me. _ “It’s pretty nice. I’m not home all that often, though…” Eager to change the subject, and talk about  _ anything _ except himself, Jisung quickly swerved back onto the main course of conversation: “All right,  _ now _ tell me what happened to your lip. Whoever hit you, I’ll fuck them up.”

Chenle’s laugh was weak and half-hearted— no wall of exaggerated emojis and LOLs to hide behind this time. “It’s stupid. It’s— it’s just that Renjun got frustrated because I kept fucking up, and it was getting late and everyone was tired. I’m just… a space cadet when it comes to the practice room, I guess.” Chenle kept his eyes down, picking at his cuticles.

Anger surged through Jisung’s veins like venom, making his chest feel cold and tight, but he kept his attention on the food and tried not to show it. He honestly couldn’t remember which one was Renjun; only Chenle stood out to him in the saccharine wasteland of Dream’s MVs, the rest blended together for him. “And Renjun never fucks anything up?” he asked mildly, peering at Chenle discreetly, watching him lower the icepack and tongue at the cut on his lip. “Next time one of them hits you, you should hit him back. It would probably catch them off-guard, getting schooled by the  _ maknae.” _

“I’d get in trouble, though, which I’m pretty sure is what’s happening to Renjun right now. The last thing I need in SM is more trouble.” Chenle sighed, shaking his head like he was waking up from a bad dream and setting the icepack down altogether. “The past is past. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

It felt like every glance in Chenle’s direction had to be furtive— despite the somber atmosphere, he found himself wanting to take this opportunity to admire Chenle in person, and that just seemed wrong. But even exhausted and defeated as he was, there was something striking about him, something strangely and intoxicatingly beautiful.

_ I just want to look into his eyes for a little while. Just stare. _ It was heartachingly pathetic, and it made Jisung squeeze his eyes shut tight for a moment. This wasn’t the time for these feelings. This was, in fact, the exact opposite.

“I believe in you, hyung. I think you’re strong enough for this. And— if they don’t want to give you a fair shake in Dream, then I know you’ll blow all their careers out of the water once you go solo.” Jisung stirred the noodles absently in the broth, watching them soften. Instinct was to taste-test and make sure they were cooked properly, but the very thought made his stomach lurch more than usual, so he went by sight instead. “What’s your plan once your contract is up? Will you stay here, or go back to China?”

_ Stay. Stay stay stay stay. _

“Hm. I truthfully don’t know what I’ll do,” Chenle admitted, seating himself on one of the kitchen barstools, propping his chin up on his hand as he watched Jisung work. “I— I like when you call me hyung in person,” he suddenly blurted out, catching Jisung so off-guard that he nearly dropped his chopsticks. “No one else does. I’m the youngest in the company. So…”

What was this?  _ What was this? _ Jisung was left wondering again, more urgently than before. He had an idea of what he  _ wanted _ it to be, but it was a  _ bad _ idea, one that terrified him. “Aww! I’ll call you hyung whenever you need to feel validated,” he teased, shifting his weight to hopefully keep the other from noticing his shaking knees. “Or  _ oppa,  _ if you’d prefer.”

“Why are you so weird!” Finally, a genuine laugh, and a genuine smile, though it only lasted a moment before Chenle touched his bottom lip and winced.

“Years of psychological damage from child stardom, probably. An intense desire to see the people around me smile. Plus, you know… attention whore.” Jisung smiled faintly at his own answer, carefully transferring the noodles and broth into a bowl. “Do you want something to drink? I have water or vodka.”

Chenle’s eyebrows raised as if cued by some invisible director. He really did have the best facial expressions— he would have made a good model, too. “Water is fine…” As Jisung reached for a clean glass from the cupboard, Chenle added meekly, “You should eat some of this. I won’t be able to finish it. I’m not a big eater. Plus… you know, promotions coming up. I’m supposed to be losing weight.”

“It’s okay. I already ate before you got here,” Jisung lied, walking to the picture window on the far side of the room and cracking the glass open so he could light a cigarette. He didn’t think about it much before he did it, and he certainly didn’t miss the way that Chenle’s brow furrowed at the smell. Suddenly pierced with anxiety, Jisung scrambled for something distracting to talk about: “I know you have a comeback coming up, but we should see if we ever have days off that line up. I want to go to the beach— I really like the beach in the winter, but I hate doing stuff by myself.”

“I’ve never been to the beach in the winter,” Chenle remarked with a small smile. “I’ll let you know. If it’s with you, I bet it will be fun.”

“I hope so! It’s best if it’s not too cold…” Jisung rambled on nervously, blushing. “God. I’m a terrible conversationalist. Sorry I’m like this. And sorry I smoke. I’m trying to quit.” That was a goddamn lie. He’d started when he was sixteen, stealing smokes from his father’s stash; his mother had caught him red-handed, but never said a word about it. She probably knew the truth, that he was using them not only to relieve stress, but to suppress his appetite.

“I don’t think you should apologize for being the way that you are anymore than I should,” Chenle assured him— but after poking at his noodles with his chopsticks, seeming to have little appetite, he tacked on nervously, “As long as you’re healthy.”

That was a tall order. Jisung was happy that he’d still retained his natural gift as an actor when he formulated his reassuring answer. "Just as healthy as you, I would assume!"

XV.

Maybe Chenle was an attention whore, too. But the fact of the matter was, Jisung fulfilled a need in him that had so far been left to starve: the need for  _ genuine _ engagement. Talking stoically with his groupmates about proper dance positions, lying through his mother’s questions about his health and whether he was sleeping well, none of that felt like anything meaningful. He felt like a robot, reading a script.

If conversations with everyone else were scripts, conversations with Jisung were more like a choose-your-own-adventure book. The younger wasn’t shy to talk about anything, from the silly and the mundane to the deep, important things that Chenle didn’t even think about with anyone else.  _ What are your favorite sweets? If you could run away from your life and hide yourself in any country, anywhere in the world, where would you go and what would you do? What country do you think has the best fashion designers? Have you ever considered what you want to do when you retire from modeling? _

_ “Retire? TT_TT I don’t know how to do anything except modeling… once I get old and lose my looks, I might just curl up and die somewhere, I don’t know.” “I didn’t go to high school. I don’t know shit about shit.” _

To Chenle, this was certainly news.  _ “Oh really?? That’s dedication! My mom made me finish, even though I didn’t want to…” _

Jisung’s response was slow. It was no surprise, being that it was only early evening. He could have been working; Chenle himself was sitting in the van, waiting for his members to file in so they could head off to the dance studio. They’d just finished at the salon, getting their new dye jobs for their comeback. The color had been stripped from Chenle’s hair and replaced with a pale, spring-like green— better than purple, for sure, but he couldn’t help but envy Mark’s black and Jeno’s honey-brown.

_ “Can I tell you a secret?”  _ Jisung asked at last.

_ “Of course you can…” _

_ “I wanted to finish school, but my mom wouldn’t let me. I don’t think she wanted me to find anything else.” _

Jisung never talked about his parents, short of mentioning that they existed. Chenle didn’t know what they did for work, or what their relationship with Jisung consisted of, but his guess was nothing good.

_ “Oh… that’s so shitty. I’m sorry :( You have your acting, right? Do you like acting? I watched you in When You’re Not Here… you were so cute!! I never cry while watching TV, but my mom and I both cried during your big flashback scene. It was so convincing. I can’t believe you were only twelve.” _

_ “Chenle.” _ The sound of a  _ real _ voice, stern with scolding and paired with a jab in the side, made Chenle’s head pop up, cheeks bright with embarrassment. Mark had seated himself beside Chenle, while the others filed into the vehicle behind him. “I’m trying to tell you something. Who are you always texting these days, anyway?”

“Just… a friend of mine. I’m really sorry, hyung. Can you repeat what you said?”

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Mark’s question was blunt— and said loud enough that Jaemin and Donghyuck, in the seat furthest back, paused their conversation to listen.

The sudden attention drawn to him made Chenle’s cheeks flush, mouth drying up and rendering him speechless. He knew that his hesitation would make him look guilty— but inexplicably, he  _ felt _ guilty, and he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t under contract to have  _ no friends, _ but— 

Jisung was different. Jisung was becoming so precious to him, and getting the rare glimpse into the younger’s troubles was making Chenle wish that he could take care of him, set his life right, give him another option than this one that he seemed to despise. Maybe Chenle was starting to  _ want _ more than friendship. He’d never considered that before this moment.  _ Maybe I do. _

“I don’t,” he finally managed, jamming his phone under his thigh so nobody could try and take it. “And I already said I’m sorry. Let’s just go.” For the first time, his words were brief with Mark, bordering on rude. It felt like ages ago that he’d felt any sort of kinship with their leader. Ever since the night that Renjun had hit Chenle, when Mark went strangely silent and didn’t even ask him if he was okay… well, Chenle had an idea of where the cards had fallen.

_ Five years until my contract is up. Five more years of pretending. This is going to be hell. _

Once they were all loaded into the van and started towards the studio (everyone distracted, but still eerily quiet), Chenle dared to check his phone again. The messages were sitting there waiting, and he felt a euphoric little rush.

_ “Please T_T I don’t deserve your kindness hahaha” “How bout this… I’ll retire when your contract expires and you walk out of Dream with both middle fingers up. Then you and I will start our OWN boy band, which will just be you singing while I make hype noises behind you. It will be glorious.” _

Chenle choked on his laugh. Sometimes it felt like he and Jisung shared their own private radio wave, just the two of them, and he was  _ so _ okay with that.

XVI.

When Jisung retired, it wouldn’t just be from modeling. When Jisung lost his career, it would be to the fires of the crematorium; tragically young, painfully beautiful, at the peak of his life. He’d planned that one out already, but of course, he couldn’t say it or even type it.

People talked about the romanticism of the 27 Club, but Jisung wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to drag things out for eight more years. Maybe he’d make that a goal, but take an early exit if things ever got too much to bear. Yeah, that was probably a good plan. There was no shame in not being strong enough, as long as he tried.

It had been a long day, and Jisung was honestly too tired to feel anything  _ but  _ tired _. _ His first shoot had been  _ early -  _ he’d needed to be made up and styled in time to pose in front of the sunrise - and after that, a TV show taping, which was slightly more interesting but took more concentration than his model-sized pea-brain was used to.

Still, the day has passed in a haze of distraction. Jisung's body went through the necessary motions, but his mind was with Chenle at his comeback showcase. Jisung had been invited - Chenle had even offered to get him a spot in the pit - but Jisung's schedules for the day left no chance. Instead, he'd typed back an alternative:  _ "Come over after the showcase? We can have a drink to celebrate =^^=" _

So Jisung rushed home despite his exhaustion, hurrying to tidy up the few out-of-place items: throwing a discarded hoodie into the bedroom, washing the knife and cutting board from the apple he’d sliced for breakfast.  _ God,  _ that had been at 3 AM, and he couldn’t remember eating anything since, but thinking about putting even a single bite of food in his mouth made him sick to his stomach. His hands were shaking a little, he couldn’t quite say from what, but rather than dinner, he opted for a quick shot of soju whilst standing in front of the fridge instead.

When the doorbell buzzed, it was past 10 PM, and Jisung had been dozing on the couch, pinching himself every so often as a reminder not to drift off just yet. When he opened the door, Chenle stood before him looking just as frazzled and exhausted as Jisung himself felt— no, actually, upon a second look, he still had some traces of makeup smudged beneath his eyes, like a little raccoon. The sight made him grin.

“I rushed out as soon as they would let me! Sorry it’s so late!” Chenle quickly apologized with a humble bow, stepping inside when Jisung beckoned him and slipping off his shoes.

“No need to apologize! I would have been awake anyway. My sleep schedule is totally fucked,” Jisung lied brightly out of pure instinct. Truth was, he probably would have stayed up all night, if Chenle wanted him to. He’d already established the precedent that his body didn’t matter all that much, but this time there was the extra dose of motivation in destroying himself for a worthy cause. “Have you eaten?”

Chenle shook his head, but then added softly, “I’m not really hungry, though. I’m always in a weird mindset after I’m onstage, so sorry if I seem a bit…” He bit his lip, their gazes breaking. “Really, I just wanted to get out of the venue and come here. I was feeling sort of claustrophobic.”

“How about some soju, then? I was thinking drinks and a movie might be a good way to unwind?” Jisung smiled, pulling the bottle back out of the fridge,  _ mostly _ full. He was already feeling the twinge of his first shot sinking into his empty stomach.

“Okay. I haven’t drank much before though, so…”

“We’ll be careful. Especially since you haven’t eaten.” Jisung led the way into the spacious but sterile living room with its bare coffee table and the stark white sofa he barely ever sat on; the TV was already on, playing a recent episode of Music Bank. Probably too close to home for Chenle. Jisung took the middle seat on the sofa, grabbing the remote and switching over to Netflix. “You pick what we watch. I don’t care. Anything you want is okay with me.”

Really, if Chenle was happy, Jisung was happy. The notion had been swirling around in his head for a few days, and acknowledging it was a little scary. Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about another person before.

“Okay.” Chenle sat carefully beside him and took the remote when it was offered, but as Jisung poured two shots, the TV screen remained unmoving. When Jisung glanced up, he was surprised to find Chenle’s eyes on him, and their gazes locked for half a second— Chenle looked away quickly, scrolling through the titles onscreen at the speed of light with a flustered glow to his cheeks.

_ He was staring. _ That made Jisung blush, too. For all that he’d convinced himself that he  _ liked _ Chenle not looking at him, not judging him for his appearance— well, suddenly he wondered if Chenle liked his looks after all,  _ maybe I want him to, _ and the thought made his chest feel like it was going to explode. Shit, shit,  _ shit. _

“Here. Do a shot with me,” Jisung urged before Chenle could settle on anything, pressing one of the full glasses into the elder’s free hand; his own was trembling, and he was glad that he’d saved his calorie allotment for the day, because what he really needed was to get piss-drunk and to stop thinking quite so damn much.  _ “Geonbae.” _

Chenle obediently clinked glasses with Jisung, but hesitated in drinking it, giggling at the ease with which Jisung drained his own. “You’re—”

“I’m?”

“Never mind.” Chenle shook his head, smiling a private little smile before drinking his own— two gulps and it was gone, with a grimace and a full body shudder. “How about a comedy? I’m in the mood to laugh.”

“Like I said, anything,” Jisung replied easily, putting their glasses on the coffee table so he could refill them. Their knees bumped, showering him with a rain of sparks, making Chenle jump— but neither of them pulled back.  _ Anything you want, I want. _

XVII.

_ You’re so cute. _ Chenle had almost said it, and when he stopped himself, it was hard to say what emotion was stronger, relief or disappointment. He hadn’t even sipped his soju yet, and he was already acting stupid.

There were so many moments when Jisung struck him as enviably mature - the naturalness with which he knocked back a shot, the shameless way that he explained the blue jokes in the movie that went over Chenle’s head - but just the same, there were moments of unexpected innocence that made him remember that Jisung was very nearly a child. His exuberant laughter. The noisy yawn that he didn’t bother to cover. The way, after two more shots, he curled himself up and shamelessly snuggled against Chenle’s shoulder.

“This okay? Sorry, I’m a little tired.”

Chenle nodded, though his heart was pounding. When had he last had someone this close to him, close enough to be able to smell their shampoo? (Jisung’s smelled like strawberries, which was surprising and oddly endearing.) Instinctively, he went to fidget with his shirt sleeve, but the stripe of angry white across his wrist reminded him not to; instead, he pulled both hands inside his sleeves and gripped the fabric tight to stay still. “I can go home if you’re tired.”

“You don’t have to. I like you here.”

Chenle swallowed the half-hearted protest his mind had generated. He was no longer following the movie; Jisung’s warmth was too exciting, too intimidating, too tempting, too terrifying. He could taste the soju on his own breath, just a few steps away from beer. He felt Jisung’s hand brush against his thigh as he shifted to get comfortable, but it didn’t stay.  _ People aren’t just nice to you for no reason. People don’t just like you because they like you. No man has pure intentions. This is Jisung, who is just as lonely as you are— but  _ **_him,_ ** _ he told you he was lonely, too, lonely enough to invite a sixteen year old boy back to his apartment and—  _

No. No, no, no, no. Chenle breathed deep, focused on the smell of strawberries. He didn’t want to think about Jisung being that kind of person, it wasn’t fair.  _ But I can’t sleep here. I couldn’t sleep here anyway, I have to work in the morning. _ To distract himself, to try and feel something positive, he wrapped an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and focused on the way that it felt, having someone he cared for so close that he could feel his heartbeat against his ribcage.

When the ending credits began to roll, Chenle found that he hadn’t even been paying attention through the latter half of the movie. Evidently, neither had Jisung, because he was fast asleep. His breaths were slow, deep and even, and though his eyelids occasionally twitched like they might open, he didn’t react when Chenle let the backs of his fingers ghost over the younger’s perfectly smooth cheek.

“Jisung…  _ Jisungie.  _ I need to go home.” Chenle whispered, his attempt half-hearted. Disturbing Jisung when he was so clearly exhausted seemed too cruel, and he really didn’t want to. He wiggled a little - no response - before cradling Jisung’s head steady with his hand and slipping himself out from beneath him, lowering him gently to the couch cushion. Without Chenle’s arm to hug, Jisung’s arms wrapped around himself, and the bittersweet ache in his stomach gave Chenle a moment’s pause. If he could have stayed and been Jisung’s teddy bear, he would have.

He stood quickly, pausing at the sudden headrush that followed. Maybe drinking on an empty stomach had been a bad idea; he hadn’t had much, but he hated the way he felt and the way his mouth tasted. With one glance back at Jisung to assure that he was still asleep, Chenle tried to focus through the fog in his brain. Bathroom— piss, water, and mouthwash, and then he’d probably feel better.

The apartment was spacious, but the rooms were few. A large living room, a lovely kitchen, and a single hallway with a single open door.  _ Jisung’s bedroom, _ he realized when he peered inside, and the bathroom was on the other side. On the way through, he kept his eyes on the prize, determined not to get distracted. Took care of business, washed his hands and splashed his face with cold water, looked at himself in the mirror and wished he hadn’t. The mouthwash was easy to find, though the cupboards seemed to be arranged at random, razors next to toothpaste next to a prescription bottle labeled “setraline” that was six months old but looked untouched. He shook his head, trying not to think about what that could be.

Walking back through Jisung’s room… he knew he shouldn’t have, but he paused. Looked around himself, took in all the little details that he could. It was the only room in the apartment that could be called messy, with clothes scattered around, a dresser drawer left carelessly open, the bed unmade. The only thing that might have indicated that this was the bedroom of a famous supermodel was the vanity table with its lighted mirror, scattered with skincare products, BB creams, face masks. Even compared to Chenle, who had a company-mandated dermatologist and frequent hair treatments at the salon, Jisung just felt so luxurious and expensive. With a little wave of shame (feeling oddly like a sasaeng for once), he picked up one of the little half-empty moisturizers, turning it over and over again in his hand. He wasn’t sure what was keeping him there, but—

All of a sudden, something else caught his eye, something tossed onto the edge of the unmade bed. A leatherbound notebook, fallen open to a page jammed with writing. Chenle put the bottle down, glancing towards the doorway— he couldn’t see Jisung on the couch, but he could see the TV still on the movie selection page, waiting to be turned off. Taking a tentative seat on the vanity table’s bench, he picked up the book and glanced over Jisung’s distinctive scrawl.

_ 12/13 - 54.5 kg _ _  
_ _ Banana - 100 cal _ _  
_ _ 2 rice cakes - 80 cal _ _  
_ _ Protein shake - 300 cal _

_ 12/14 - 54.8 kg _ _  
_ _ 1 cup strawberries - 50 cal _ _  
_ _ Salad - ???? (only ate lettuce) _

_ 12/15 - 54.4 kg _ _  
_ _ X _

Chenle blinked hard, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Dieting was something he knew all too well; when promotion time crept up on them, he and his members would crash-diet just as readily as any other idol, and it always sucked. Egg diet. Sweet potato diet. Banana diet. (Honestly, he’d never look at a banana the same way again.) But even so, the idea of subsisting on a few hundred calories a day was mind-boggling, and that unexplained but ominous  _ X…  _ There weren’t many days like that, but there were a few.

_ 12/29 - 53 kg _ _  
_ _ Egg - 70 calories _ _  
_ _ Rice cake - 40 calories _ __  
_ Hamburger _ _  
_ __ Isn’t a bulimic just a failed anorexic?

It was hard to breathe when he saw that— he could almost hear Jisung’s dry humor behind it, and it made his stomach clench as though  _ he _ would be sick. And on the next page, written three times in a shaky script, like a mantra:  _ Nothing tastes as good as success. Nothing tastes as good as success. Nothing tastes as good as success. _

Suddenly, everything around Chenle felt as shaky as Jisung’s hand holding the pen. He shut the book quickly and put it back where he found it, standing up and backing away, no longer able to stomach the sight of that bedroom. The pristine perfection of the rest of the apartment was easier to take, just like Jisung’s flawless, polished outside.

He’d been too restless to go home before, and now he couldn’t even  _ fathom _ laying in bed and trying to sleep. He couldn’t even bring himself to consider waking up Jisung to say goodbye— he peeked into the living room once more, but the sight of Jisung’s dainty wrist hanging off the edge of the couch made him want to burst into tears.

At least Chenle had moved on from his own physical destruction. Jisung was still, quite literally, being eaten alive. The way that it made Chenle’s wrists sting and itch and throb terrified him. This was getting too close, too much. If there was one thing a broken person  _ didn’t _ need, it was another broken person falling in love with him.

XVIII.

“Park Jisung, get your ass up! We’re going to be so late!”

_ Thwap. _ Joohyun didn’t hit hard, but the blow to his shoulder still made Jisung groan in protest, and he instinctively tried to roll away, only to end up with a face full of couch cushion. Blinking his eyes open, he was caught off-guard by the spill of natural sunlight through the windows.

“I can’t believe you got drunk last night! You have a fitting in twenty minutes, did you know that? You’re going to be all bloated,  _ and  _ we’re going to be late—  _ aish. _ You don’t have time to shower. Go wash your face and put some clean clothes on, at least, so you don’t look trashy.”

“I’m going, I’m going, you don’t need to yell at me,” Jisung grumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was hungover on top of everything else, feeling  _ powerfully _ sick; the bathroom was never a goal, and he was lucky that he even made it to the sink to throw up.

“You’re a disaster,” Joohyun sighed from the kitchen doorway, but he could tell that it was more pity than anything. “I’ll make you some peppermint tea to settle your stomach. Go get ready.”

Jisung couldn’t bring himself to lift his head from the soothingly cold sink edge. “Sorry, noona.”

“Yeah, well. Nineteen year olds are stupid, it’s in your nature. Y’know, you should count your lucky stars that you’re not an idol— you’d get kicked out in, like, a day.”

Normally, Jisung would have ribbed her back, but given the circumstances, he only sulked off to the bathroom to get ready. Face washed, teeth brushed, a smudge of concealer on the dark circles beneath his eyes— and a quick text to Chenle before changing his clothes:  _ “I’m sorry I fell asleep! Next time you should wake me up so I can say goodbye ;; How are you feeling??” _

The reply didn’t come until he snatched some clothes from the closet and checked his phone again:  _ “I’m sorry… got really restless and came back to the practice room tbh. Slept here but will be fine  _ 👍  _ Thank you for taking good care of me last night! I had fun!” _

He sighed in dismay. It was only okay when  _ Jisung  _ didn’t take care of himself!  _ “Dummy! I hope you slept enough! Sleep good!” _

_ “I’m okay, Jisung.” _

The answer was not what he expected. Maybe it was just Chenle’s exhaustion, but the curt response felt cold, and made Jisung suddenly feel like he was only a few centimeters tall. Of course, what was he doing? Following after Chenle like a lovesick puppy?  _ He probably realized what a weirdo I am. That I have a crush. _

_ “Are you mad at me? I’m really sorry that I got so clingy last night. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk. I’m not usually like that.” _ (A lie— Jisung would always,  _ always _ be like that with Chenle if he could be.)

_ “I’m not mad! Just really really tired. Sorry.” “You were cute  _ 😚 _ You look so innocent when you’re asleep!” _

Jisung’s fingers were itching to cut to the chase. Every time he was certain that Chenle didn’t feel the same way, he’d drop a bomb like  _ that _ one, and it was driving him crazy. But before he could formulate a response, Joohyun slammed on the bedroom door. “Park Jisung, move your ass! I’m not getting fired over this!”

“Can you give me five seconds? It’s not my fault I overslept! My schedule yesterday was so long!” Jisung complained, tossing the phone aside so he could tear off his clothes from yesterday and get dressed. Luckily, for a fitting, anything would do: he selected a fitted gray sweater and some tight-fitting black jeans for a sleek, simple look. Then, snatching his phone back up, he hurried to tap in another text on his way out the door:  _ “I am not CUTE I am HANDSOME how dare you! Hahaha… did you really practice all night though? That makes me feel bad!” _

“Texting that girlfriend of yours again?” Joohyun asked as they got in the car, managing a wry smile despite her frustrations. “She seems so mysterious! Can I at least know her name? Her initials?”

“You already know her initials. CL. Hop off my dick.” Jisung answered as dryly as he could, trying to keep his nerves hidden.  _ Her. Except he’s not a her, and he’s not mine. But I kind of wish he was. _

_ “No need to feel bad! I chose to come here, nobody forced me lol. I’m a bit tired and sore but I’m doing okay. We have our comeback stage on Inkigayo in 2 days so I really want to make sure I’m ready. So I’m sorry if it seems like I can’t message you much…  _ 💔”

_ “No apologies! I get how it is! Be safe and keep in touch when you can… or else I’ll miss you  _ 😢"

The rest of the car ride was a fog for Jisung’s hangover-addled brain. Leaning against the window, he closed his eyes and let himself doze a bit, ignoring Joohyun’s cursing as the minutes ticked by and the traffic impeded them. His mind was elsewhere, trying to recreate the warmth of Chenle’s shoulder under his head, the low vibration of his voice and his laughter.

Never before had Jisung’s thoughts lingered on another person like this. Never before had he  _ fantasized _ about simply being close to someone. Never before had Jisung felt such a strong and pure desire to  _ protect _ someone, the way he wanted to scoop Chenle up against his chest and shield him from the harshness of the world.

When they arrived at the studio, they were nearly fifteen minutes late, so Joohyun nearly had a fit when Jisung excused himself to find a bathroom before doing anything else. “What am I supposed to do? I have to pee!” he replied indignantly, though he was worried her venomous glare would catch him fidgeting with his phone in his pocket.

“I swear to  _ God, _ Park Jisung, you’d better be fast.”

Oh, he was. He didn’t need much time at all, just long enough to search on his phone for the closest cafe to the SM Entertainment building and place a call. Luckily, they had no problem making a delivery for him: a hot latte with caramel, extra sugar (he could recall Chenle mentioning that he loved sweets), and some fresh cinnamon buns, enough to feed all of the Dream members and their manager, too. He paid with his own card, and when he was asked where to deliver, he explained, “I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby of the SM Entertainment building, by the receptionist desk. You won’t be able to miss me, I have green hair.”

Then, a quick text to Chenle:  _ “Busy?” _

_ “Not just yet. No group practice until 10.” _

_ “Good. Go down to the lobby. Someone is waiting to meet you.” _

_ “Uhm… what?” _

_ “Enjoy! :)” _

XIX.

Chenle was a little delirious from sleep deprivation, so truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to feel. Returning to the practice room to find Jaemin and Donghyuck stretching, he’d mustered up a pathetic excuse for a smile as he offered them some of the pastries that Jisung had sent. This meant that his social interaction quota with his members was therefore met, and he was able to feel less guilty about sneaking to the back of the practice room with his coffee and sitting by himself, going through his texts with Jisung once again.

_ Dummy! I hope you slept enough! _ Those words made him want to grit his teeth. Jisung was dumber than Chenle by a long shot, and he wanted to tell him that.  _ You don’t need to destroy yourself to be successful. No matter what you do, I find you beautiful, did you know that?  _ He wanted to say it, and yet with a forced sort of apathy, he refrained. This was getting too deep, it was affecting him too profoundly. It was time to stop.

_ “Thank you!! You don’t need to spoil me like this when I’m your hyung, though…” _

_ “Then you can spoil ME next time ^-^ hahahaha” _

_ “I hope you ate breakfast yourself.” _

The bluntness, the lack of Chenle’s usual playful spirit, seemed to catch Jisung off-guard; he didn’t respond.

That was all Chenle needed to decide. He was getting too attached, too invested, and he had to slow things down before he reached the point of no return. He had a feeling that would mean talking to Jisung a whole lot less, which made him feel absolutely sick to his stomach to think about, but— he did a lot of hard things as an idol, and this was sure to be the least of them, right?

Promotions began. Chenle both loved and hated music show days: performing onstage was always invigorating, even if it wasn’t a song that he loved, but the days started early and ended late and took every ounce of energy that he had in him. Throughout the day, he had plenty of time to reply to Jisung’s texts in between rehearsals, but he would limit himself: three messages a day, nothing too long, nothing too deep. Nothing that advertised how much he wanted  _ more. _ Even when Jisung sent him memes funny enough to make him snort and have to hide his smile from his bandmates. Even when Jisung texted him compliments on his performance (and admitted that the attention-whore in him couldn’t wait for Chenle to finish promotions so he could visit again).

He tried to limit visits to Jisung’s Instagram, too: once a day, just to see if he’d posted anything new, just to see if he looked okay. The angles of the photos made it hard to tell, unless Jisung posted a full-body picture— and when he did, it seemed devastatingly obvious to Chenle suddenly, how delicate he was.

_ “I hope you had a good day today! I’m at work, but I watched your performance in the waiting room… my manager is a Dream stan now. Well, more technically, she’s a Jeno stan, but I’m pushing my Chenle bias at every opportunity!” _

This message had come in at 10:02 PM, when Chenle was sitting in the van with Seulgi and waiting for the others to return, but he’d chosen not to reply. He wasn’t going to reply until the next day, he told himself, because it was late and he was trying to convince Jisung that he was a reasonable person, asleep at a reasonable time. He hoped Jisung was fooled, because his own body couldn’t be convinced. At 3 AM, three hours before he knew he had to wake up and do it all again, he was wide awake and staring at the message, his pulse pounding.

There were ways to end this. He’d thought about it over the course of the night: he could have told Jisung off, insisted that he wanted space. He could have been vicious about it, too, and maybe Jisung would give him all the space he wanted and  _ more. _ But Jisung seemed to genuine, and the thought of making him sad, even for his own good, made Chenle want to throw up. How could he make Jisung hate him without driving a knife into the kid?

_ “Sorry I haven’t been answering much lately. Not ignoring you. Just thinking about too many things at once.” _

That would give him the night to decide, he thought… though of course, Jisung always seemed to have a surprise up his sleeve. Just when he’d plugged his phone back in and promised himself for the third time that he was going to get some sleep, his phone vibrated again.

_ “Anything you can tell me about? I always like to hear what’s going on in your head :)” “If you want to tell, that is.” _

Chenle’s hands were shaking. Jisung always knew the right things to say, and it made things so unbearably hard. He read the messages again and again, trying to decide whether to take the leap. The best way to let Jisung go without hurting him was for Chenle to fall on the knife himself.

_ “I’m scared to tell you.” _

_ “Ah… I think I know what it is.” “Hey, you don’t have to be nervous, you can say what you need to say. I know I’m a lot for most people to put up with. Do what makes you comfortable, ya know?” _

He sniffled; he could always tell when he was going to cry, because his nose stuffed up before a single tear came to his eye. This was a unique sort of pain that centered in his chest, made him feel achy and tense and short of breath.

_ “You’re not a lot. I mean, not in the bad way. You’re amazing.” _ Send, before he could chicken out. Now he was trapped, now he needed to say it, but he wasn’t even sure how. He’d never confessed to anyone before— but he supposed it didn’t matter what he said, did it? As long as Jisung understood it loud and clear, he’d probably never even text Chenle back.

XX.

_ “You’re not a lot. I mean, not in the bad way. You’re amazing.” “I’m the stupid one. I don’t even know what to say.” “Jisung, I have such a huge crush on you, and I don’t know how to undo it. I don’t think I CAN undo it.” _

No words. There were no words. Jisung’s heart was pounding so quickly that it almost felt like fluttering.  _ I have such a huge crush on you. _ It was so much different than the love confessions from Instagram fans; it was raw, genuine, heart-wrenching. How did you respond to a  _ real _ love confession? Jisung threw up the covers, sitting up and shaking off sleep so that he could focus.

Dating an idol would probably be shit, but if it was Chenle, maybe it would be worthwhile. Chenle made him  _ feel things. _ That was so new, so beautifully new.

_ “Please don’t undo it!” “I like you too.” “Please.”  _ A barrage of texts, as fast as Jisung could type him; he sent them quickly, to keep Chenle’s attention.

_ “?!?!” “You’re not supposed to like me.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “I’m a disaster. WE would be a disaster.” _

_ “I don’t care.” “I don’t care about anything.” “Fuck it. Date me.” _

Jisung sounded lightyears more confident than he was. His hands were shaking, typing was hard. In the moment, nothing mattered except Chenle, except knowing that  _ maybe _ he could have him.

Chenle didn’t respond, though he’d seen the messages, and after thirty seconds or so, Jisung couldn’t take it anymore. What was Chenle doing? Turning his phone off so he could sleep? Stressing over a response? Was he as stressed as Jisung was? Maybe it was a joke.  _ Fuck,  _ he would die if it was a joke.

A minute passed. Finally, Jisung hit the “call” button. Three rings. He could picture Chenle’s fingers hovering over the “answer button”—

“Jisung,” Chenle answered at once, sounding exasperated right off the bat. “We can’t date. I’m sorry—”

“But you like me.”

“Yeah…”

“And I like you.” Jisung huffed, irritated as much as he was anxious. “I don’t like people. I don’t like  _ anything.  _ I don’t like my job, or my parents, or my manager. I don’t like  _ myself, _ and I didn’t think anyone who got to know me past my face would like me either. And now—  _ you.  _ And you make me feel— I don’t know. Important, I guess.” Chenle was crying, Jisung could only tell when he shut up and held his breath and listened hard. The soft shaking of his breath shook Jisung to his core, and he spoke again before Chenle could answer him: “I wish I could hug you right now. Seriously…”

“I— I wish you could, too.” Chenle confessed, sounding a lot smaller and further away than Jisung would have liked. “I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, Jisung. We’d both lose our careers, and it wouldn’t even be worth it. If you stripped me down, you wouldn’t like what you saw.”

_ He doesn’t understand. _ Jisung sighed, biting his inner cheek. “I’ve already seen your scars. I know you hurt yourself. It would take more than that to scare me away.”

“Oh—” Chenle gasped, and Jisung felt his heart sink.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, probably. But… it’s true.”

The silence was long, but this time, Jisung could wait. All the cards were in Chenle’s hands, and he didn’t want to rush him into anything— but Jisung could already see the relationship unfolding ahead of them so perfectly. They would build each other up. He would hold Chenle through the pain, and Chenle— well, maybe Chenle would make him care about not dying. At least a little bit, at least a  _ one percent  _ improvement.

“I haven’t hurt myself in awhile. They’re old scars,” Chenle answered at last, voice nearly a whisper. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to off myself on you. I actually only confessed to you—  _ God,  _ Jisung, this is going to sound stupid.”

“Yeah, try me.”

“I wanted you to hate me. I thought that would be easiest, for both of our careers and everything.”

“Hating you sounds hard. I don’t want to.” Jisung sighed. “We can go back to just being friends if you want, but… I don’t know, that sounds hard, too. And our jobs are already hard enough without shit like that, don’t you think? Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“I… I don’t know, Jisung…” Chenle hesitated for another painfully long moment, but at least Jisung could no longer hear his crying breaths. “I’m nervous. Can I text you my answer in a little bit? I have to think about it.”

“Of course you can. Sleep on it and text me tomorrow. No pressure at all.” No pressure for Chenle, anyway— Jisung felt so full of pressure that he might explode, like a shaken bottle of pop. He wanted to call his manager in the dead of night and tell her the good news, just to tell somebody. (God, he really needed friends.) “Get some rest, Chenle. And please… I don’t want you to be scared of me. No matter what happens, you’re, like… my best friend. Okay?”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, too. Jisung heard Chenle stop breathing, and actually thought that perhaps his phone had cut out for a moment before Chenle responded: “You’re my best friend, too. I’ll think hard about it and give you an answer.”

Jisung wanted Chenle to take his time, of course, but the anticipation of a response left him sleepless in his bed. He knew Chenle wouldn’t text him until the next day, but that didn’t stop him from checking his phone a thousand times, rereading those messages over and over— loving that Chenle loved him.  _ Maybe _ loved him.

When was the last time he had felt truly loved? Never.  _ Never. _

Because the  _ first  _ time he felt truly loved was the next day, when he woke up to a single message from the only person he gave a shit about in his contacts:  _ “I’m putting my faith in you. I’m warning you now, I’m scared, I’ve never done this before… but let’s try, and we can see what happens  _ ❤”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for those sensitive to vomit - yeah, I didn't do this on purpose, but I realized during editing that Jisung pukes like 4 times in this chapter. Nothing terribly graphic I promise. Poor bb :(((

XXI.

Thinking of Jisung as his boyfriend either made Chenle feel lighter than air, or made his skin crawl with dread, depending on the moment. To be seen by someone, recognized, and told that he was valid even though he was covered in scars… that was something special. But beneath that, only to come out at his lowest moments, was the reminder that their relationship probably wouldn’t last forever. They’d never be able to take things public. The paparazzi would destroy them. But more likely, their secrets would push them apart before any force in the outside world had the chance.

But then again…

_“Just landed in New York, I feel like a zombie… gonna crash in the hotel for a little bit… you should send me a selca, I don’t have even ONE picture of you on my phone, and I want one that nobody else can have~”_

...it was good to focus on the beautiful while he could. And actually _being with_ Jisung, even when they were half a world away from each other… maybe this was what people called the “honeymoon phase”, but to him, it felt pure and bright and beautiful all the same. Everything made him think of Jisung, miss Jisung— and the hardest thing was keeping it a secret. _How do idols date in secret? I just want to gush about him, to my mom and Seulgi and everyone else._

Chenle smiled to himself as he fixed his hair in the mirror; his makeup was finished for the show that he and his members were about to start filming, and unlike the stage makeup that he so loathed, his look was youthful and natural. Just a touch of BB cream to even out his skin, a sheer tint of pink on his lips.

Chenle took pictures of himself all the time, but he was weirdly self conscious, taking one for Jisung. He looked at himself on his phone screen, puckering his lips slightly. Jisung would want to kiss him, eventually, right? The thought made him giddy. As disgusting and frightened as everything _after_ the kissing had been— he really _did_ love kissing.

_You seem so nervous. You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you, Chenle?_

The pressure of a chin resting on his shoulder made him jump, until Donghyuck’s face registered beside him on his phone screen. Donghyuck was flawless as ever, caramel skin and eyeliner, hair streaked with multi-colored pastels. Chenle’s mouth fell open in surprise, and Donghyuck side-eyed him with a slight sneer.

“You gonna take the picture or what? Seulgi noona says we need to update the fan cafe.”

“Yeah. Here. Three, two…” Chenle straightened out his face, Donghyuck did the same. The picture, as expected, was fantastic— but Chenle would have to take one just for Jisung later.

“We’re ready to start shooting,” Donghyuck added casually, standing up straight and watching as Chenle uploaded the selca. “You good? You’re quiet today.”

“Since when do you care if I’m good?”

“Since you’re moping and bringing the energy down.”

Chenle turned suddenly to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, staring him down. Of course, Donghyuck only cared about their bottom line, nothing surprising there— but it was like a slap in the face, to hear him say it. _Who’s bringing the energy down? None of you think I deserve to be here. None of you care._ For some reason, it made Chenle’s heart ache brilliantly for Jisung, and his brain conjured up the voice that he wanted so desperately to hear. _“You good? You’re quiet today. Should I try to make you laugh? Wait— I heard this stupid joke earlier, and it made me think of you. Let me try and remember how it went…”_

“Give me a minute. I’ll be there,” Chenle replied shortly, bowing his head and angling his phone away from Donghyuck’s eyes. Quickly, he opened the KakaoTalk conversation with Jisung again, and he typed a response with shaky fingers, riddled with typos: _“Can’t get any time alone until later, but I’ll take a good one_ 💖 _Text me when you wake up. I don’t care what time it is, I will answer.”_

XXII.

Jisung never got especially homesick for Korea when he went abroad. He liked to travel, and New York City had become a favorite destination of his. Great shopping, engaging sights, a bustling nightlife that he could enjoy with less chance of being followed and photographed. Not to mention, pizza so good that even he could be tempted into eating a slice. (He ducked into the bathroom and threw it up twenty minutes later, though, despite his best efforts. Easy come, easy go.)

But this time, he didn’t think about the nightlife, and he didn’t care about the sights. All he wanted to do was calculate the best times to text Chenle from half a world away. Time zones always fucked him up, and Chenle’s sleep schedule was erratic, so it wasn’t easy.

Normally, too, Jisung was on a low when it was time to go home— but knowing that home meant Chenle, he was buzzing with apprehension for the entire fourteen hour flight. Joohyun slept, but Jisung could only chug coffee and scroll mindlessly on his phone and listen to “My First and Last” on repeat (which had, embarrassingly, become his favorite of Dream’s songs).

When they touched down in Korea at last, it was late, past 9 PM, and Jisung was running on fumes, but he texted Chenle just as soon as he was able: _“I’m home!!! You should come over when you’re done practicing, I really really REALLY want to see you!!!”_

_“Okay okay okay!!! Lol I’ll be able to leave by 11 I think. Might be dead tired, hope that doesn’t ruin things.”_

_“I’m dead tired too, we can be delirious together!”_

“💖💖💖💖💖💖”

Jisung’s apartment felt cold and uninhabited, almost sterile— he begged (and in the end, paid) Joohyun to pick him up a nice bottle of wine before going home herself, threw his coziest fleece blanket on the couch, lamented over the lack of food in his kitchen and wished he’d forced Joohyun to buy some kind of appetizer too, or maybe a small bouquet. In the end, he decided that wine and lit candles would have to be enough.

Just past 11:30, the doorbell rang, and Jisung nearly jumped out of his skin. This was the moment— and he might have talked a big game over text message, but in person, things were always different. They were sailing into uncharted territory, after all. _What do I do? Act like everything’s normal? Hug? Kiss? Say something romantic? Fuck._

Chenle looked just as haggard as Jisung felt, pale with dark circles under his eyes, a beanie crammed over his dyed hair, dressed for the practice room in athletic pants and a stained hoodie beneath his oversized winter coat. And in that moment he was exactly, _exactly,_ the person that Jisung wanted to see.

“Sorry I, uh… look disgusting,” Chenle laughed nervously as he slipped off his sneakers. “I danced for like eight hours today, but I showered before I came here, so hopefully I don’t stink.”

“You’re fine. I mean… _it’s_ fine. I mean… you probably don’t stink.”

Chenle laughed, probably out of obligation, but there was something about it that grabbed him oddly. Chenle wasn’t meeting his gaze, perhaps out of nerves— _oh. He’s looking at my mouth, I think._ He was pretty sure people did that when they were thinking about kissing. That was a _thing,_ right? Then Chenle blinked, eyes refocusing, biting his lip. Jisung had never understood the appeal of lip bites before, but _now…_

“Sorry, I’m an idiot. Let me take your coat.” Jisung stepped forward and took the jacket from Chenle’s hands. And then, feeling brave and foolish all at once, he leaned forward the extra distance and gave Chenle a clumsy little kiss on the lips.

For half a second, it was perfectly awkward bliss, and Jisung didn’t know anything except _euphoria_ at having Chenle close enough to touch, to taste. _But how are people supposed to know how to kiss for their first time?_ Before he could think too deeply on that, Chenle’s hands came up to Jisung’s shoulders and gave a quick push back, stepping away from him— not blushing, but ghostly pale, almost sick with fear.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung said at once, instinctively, heart thudding in his ears. Chenle’s lips parted— _trembling._ The sight made Jisung’s chest squeeze in heartbreaking agony. “Was that… weird? I’m really sorry…”

“N-No! You don’t have to apologize!” Chenle leaped back into motion, like a video unpaused. Color flooded his cheeks, and he blinked quickly, eyes wide. “You just— caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting a kiss right away. I’m so awkward. _I’m_ sorry.” He chuckled nervously, and Jisung found quickly that he couldn’t look at him.

“I should have waited. I haven’t slept in like, twenty hours or something. I’m losing my mind.” Jisung forced a laugh as he hung up Chenle’s coat. “We don’t have to kiss yet if you don’t want to. I can be patient.”

“If I know it’s coming, then it’s okay.” Chenle took Jisung’s wrist tentatively, as though even touching him made him nervous. The energy crackled in the air between them, and when Jisung turned back to look at him, suddenly he found _himself_ staring at _Chenle’s_ lips.

“I’m sorry.” The apologies just kept coming, and he couldn’t stop them. Like vomit. _So embarrassing. I feel like I’m puking up my guts in front of him._

But funnily enough, Chenle only smiled. “You don’t need to keep apologizing. And— of course I want to kiss you. I’d be _crazy_ not to want to kiss you. I’m just a little fucked up in the head, but— it’s not like you didn’t already know that about me.”

Jisung opened his mouth to argue, _we’re both fucked up so it’s okay,_ but then he realized that Chenle was leaning in closer. Then Chenle’s hand came up to his shoulder, pulling him lightly in instead of pushing away this time, and then— Jisung closed his eyes, because he was pretty sure he’d explode from embarrassment otherwise.

Chenle’s lips were soft and shy, but they seemed to know what to do, and when Jisung very clearly had _no idea,_ they weren’t too shy to show him. His arms felt natural as they slipped around Jisung’s shoulders, and with a little surge of confidence, he settled his own around Chenle’s waist. _Before didn’t count,_ Jisung decided. _This_ would be his real first kiss. And maybe he was delirious, but he’d never forget it.

“Is this okay?” Chenle pulled back just enough to speak, their noses bumping lightly against one another. Jisung opened his eyes slowly; surprise, surprise, Chenle was just as cute close-up as far away.

“This is perfect,” Jisung whispered, finding the courage to raise a hand and graze Chenle’s cheek. Chenle flinched, but only for a second before he settled into Jisung’s touch with a nervous little sigh. “Can I…?”

“Y-Yes! Please…” Chenle grinned, closing his eyes in anticipation— and when Jisung’s lips met with his again, Jisung _felt_ him quiver. Every little thing about the elder made Jisung want to take care of and protect him, which was a dangerous pitfall when Jisung couldn’t even take care of _himself._

XXIII.

Part of Chenle (a reprehensible part of himself, he could admit) wished that he could unsee what he had seen in Jisung’s journal. It tainted every photograph, from magazine spreads (Jisung looked so “fashionably” long and lean that interviewers often brought it up as a compliment) to his personal Instagram (where Chenle could no longer overlook his gaunt cheeks, his thin arms, his tiny hips).

 _“Photoshoot today for #GRINDMagazine! Check it out in the March issue, I look cute_ 🐱”

And Jisung _did_ look cute: chocolatey brown hair, thick-framed glasses, dressed in a white button-down with a navy blazer slung over his shoulder. His smile broke the ice-prince fashionista character, slightly crooked, making his eyes crinkle. But as much as Chenle admired him here, he couldn’t ignore how sunken Jisung’s cheeks looked, even compared to their first meeting. Had he lost even more weight? Was he even thinner? It was hard to tell when Chenle had only just started paying attention.

He was far from alone in their dressing room, but for the moment, it just felt like him and his phone. His phone with its blank message box, staring at him in silent mockery, asking him what the hell he intended to say. Chenle had never been in a relationship, but even if he _had,_ even if he _knew_ just the thing to say— who was _he_ to try and help Jisung when his _own_ life was such a shitshow?

_“Your IG update is cute~ Why are you always so flawless…”_

_“FaceTune!! Shh don’t tell anyone!”_

_“LMAO no way, I’ve seen you up REALLY close and you’re just as perfect_ 🥰” _“You look a little bit thin these days though… you’re healthy, right? If you get too thin then there will be less of you for me to cuddle_ 😢”

Light-hearted was the only way Chenle knew how to approach this. Jisung was an open book, but he’d deliberately hid a big part of his existence from Chenle, just as Chenle had done to him— _and if Jisung tried to ask me about it, why I tense up when he unexpectedly kisses me? I’d lie, of course, just like I always do._

 _“Don’t worry about me! It really is just the FaceTune hahaha”_ (Stubborn. Jisung was just as stubborn as Chenle was, and that would probably be an issue somewhere down the line.)

_“All your pictures, though… your arms and legs look really skinny too… Eat something really delicious for dinner tonight, okay? I’m filming til late so I won’t be able to see you, but pretend we’re having dinner together!”_

_“Lol… My stomach has been acting up a little so it’s hard for me to eat much… makes me feel sick. But I’ll try for you_ 💗 _Don’t worry too much!”_

_“It’s impossible for me not to worry…”_

_“Don’t worry! I eat better than I used to!” “Honestly… when I lived with my mom and we fought all the time, I used to skip meals just to worry her. At least I’m not that bad when I’m by myself.”_

Was this what Jisung considered “not that bad”? Was a hundred-calorie meal really a meal? Chenle heaved a sigh without meaning to, and when Mark glanced up from the chair next to him, Chenle coughed awkwardly and turned to avoid his eyes.

_“Why?”_

_“Why what?”_

_“Why did you want to worry your mom?”_

It took a long time for Jisung to type a very short response: _“Because she’s the one who stuck me here. She’s the one who made sure I’ll never be able to do anything else. And also because I was sixteen and fucking stupid. Idk.” “Talk about something else?”_

Jisung never asked to talk about something else. He always seemed so unaffected, so matter-of-fact, when he brought up the vague fact that child stars were inherently fucked in the head. But— that was always when Chenle’s insecurities came up. Chenle’s anxiety. _Chenle’s scars._ Did Jisung have scars, too?

_“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just projecting, but I worry a lot.”_

_“I know you do. It’s okay. It makes me kinda… happy, in a weird way. I don’t think anyone else worries about me. I hope you know that I worry about you, too.” “Augghhh this feels so sappy, seriously…”_

_“Doesn’t it?_ 😂 _You don’t need to worry about me, my mom does enough of that! I worry about you because you live alone and you’re so busy!”_

 _“Rather live alone then with my mom lmao. Your mom sounds cool though! Seems like she loves you a lot_ 💖 _Someday I’ll have to thank her for keeping my boyfriend alive for me.”_

Chenle bit down hard on his bottom lip, staring at the message in contemplation. He owed his mother a lot, more than any of his friends probably did. She’d gone above and beyond in her duties, taken care of him during a time that he should have been more than able to take care of himself. How could he explain all of that to Jisung? And furthermore— how could he expect Jisung to be open with him if he himself couldn’t bring himself to talk about a long-healed wound?

 _No one outside of that room knows. I’ve never, ever told anyone. But Jisung would keep my secret._ He just wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to talk about it openly. Would it be a relief to get it off his chest, or would it be a fresh reminder of the wholeness he’d never find again?

Shakily, knowing that Jisung was probably waiting at full attention, Chenle began to type. _I don’t know if I’d be able to stay in Korea without her. I couldn’t live in the dorms. Not— after— I— was— r—_

“Holy shit. Chenle— who are you dating?”

Mark’s voice so close to the back of his head made Chenle nearly jump out of his chair, and instinctively, he turned off his phone screen at once. “Don’t read over my shoulder! Do you realize how creepy that is?” Chenle hadn’t even processed his own words until they were out in the open - _unfathomably_ rude from younger to older, from maknae to leader. The realization made his cheeks burn, and he shoved his phone in his pocket.

“I saw the text, Chenle. You’re— _someone’s_ boyfriend.” Mark’s voice was low and steady, eyes dark with worry. “This isn’t just dangerous for _you,_ it’s dangerous for _everyone._ Dream needs you. We’re doing so well..” Silence: Chenle and Mark were staring each other down, each waiting for the other to concede, but Chenle couldn’t bring himself to. “Tell me who she is, at least. I can try to help you, or… something.”

Chenle would _almost_ take Mark at his word, if not for the simple fact that it was Jisung he was hiding. _He, not she. If you knew that I was gay— if the others knew that I was gay— I’d be out, wouldn’t I?_

“I don’t need help, hyung. You misread.”

Once again, Mark stared, waiting for Chenle to fold out of fear; unfortunately for him, Chenle wasn’t scared of Mark, not after experiencing things _worthy_ of fear, and he turned his back without a second thought.

Later, when the producers called the first break in taping, Chenle ducked into the bathroom to finally look at his phone once more. His half-typed confession was still there, but suddenly, seeing the words swimming before his eyes made him sick with anxiety, and he deleted them all, every last letter.

 _“Sorry for disappearing earlier. Thinking of you_ 💕”

XXIV.

_Thump. Thump. Thu— mp._

Jisung had never been one to worry himself with not feeling well. If he had a cold, all he needed were saline drops to clear up his eyes and medicine for his plugged-up nose. A night of anxiety could be remedied with some concealer to cover his dark circles. Illness was just another thing to work through, not an excuse for poor performance. His mother had always made that perfectly clear. _I don’t care if you’re sick. Smile, do you understand me?_

_Thu— mp. Thump. Thu— mp._

Jisung closed his eyes, squeezed his pillow tight, tried to focus on breathing. Every breath, another skipped heartbeat. He decided to hold his breath, which seemed to help for a couple beats, until another palpitation hit hard, resonating in his ears. Was he just anxious, or was he really getting lightheaded?

 _Maybe my heart is finally giving out. Maybe it’s too little too late, trying to eat for Chenle’s sake. Maybe I’ve already fucked myself over._ At this time last year, Jisung would have almost welcomed the idea of death, but now… well, for better or worse, _somebody_ needed him. Or at least, thought he did.

Jisung had never prayed before, had never believed that there was anything to pray _to—_ but just this once, what could it hurt, just to _think_ it? _Please God, I know I haven’t done anything to deserve a favor, but don’t kill me tonight. Don’t kill me until I know that Chenle will be okay. I’ll take care of my body. I’ll eat three meals a day. Shit, I’ll start going to church, if it helps._

Beside him, his phone vibrated, and he cried out in alarm before he realized what it was. It was still fairly early, just past 8 PM, and the last thing he wanted was to face a message from Joohyun (or worse, his mother, but he doubted it); seeing Chenle’s name on the notification gave him a renewed surge of hope. At least if he was going to die, he would get a chance to talk to his boyfriend once more first.

_“Jisungie, are you home??”_

_“I am, but tonight isn’t a good night to hang out_ 🙁 _I think I might be sick and I don’t want to take a chance of you catching it! You need your voice, I don’t!”_

_“Noooo bby ;; Don’t be sick, not allowed” “I’m in the practice room anyway, so I can’t hang out, but I wanted to know if I should send you something~”_

_“What do you mean??”_

_“Happy birthday! Listen for your doorbell!”_

Happy birthday…? Jisung stared blankly at the message for a few seconds, trying to process, before looking to the date on his phone. February 4th. _Oh. That’s right. I turn twenty in a few hours. How did I forget?_ Even thinking about it made his eyes well up with tears. Once upon a time, he’d been counting down the months to adulthood, to perceived freedom. But now— he was there, and he didn’t feel any more _free._

_“How did you know???”_

_“Internet! I looked it up last week cuz I was curious…” “I also know your height and your blood type now. I’m officially one of your creepy fans.”_

It was hard to know what to say to that— thinking about it made Jisung feel physically weak in the absolute best way. He wanted to throw his arms around Chenle, give him a long kiss, lay his head down on his chest and cry about how much he lo—

_It’s only been a month. Is it normal to feel like this? I just want him here all the time. I want to fall asleep with him. I want to see what he’s like first thing in the morning. I want to touch him without either of us being afraid._

_Thu— mp._ Jisung took a deep, trembling breath and tried to gather his thoughts.

_“I adore you, Zhong Chenle. I wish I had more chances to show you that.”_

This time, the message went unread; Chenle had probably been called back to practice, which couldn’t be avoided, but always made Jisung feel lonely nonetheless. He sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes. It was time to set things right in his life. Maybe he _didn’t_ want to curl up and die before age twenty-seven.

When the doorbell rang, Jisung hurried to answer, stuttering heart forgotten. It was a teenage delivery boy, wearing the logo of a local bakery and offering a small, white box. Instantly, Jisung’s heart sank in his chest. He knew what it was without having to open it, and he almost didn’t want to, but for Chenle, he would.

At least Chenle had been considerate enough to get him a _small_ cake, the type that would be easily split between a couple. But the chocolate icing looked rich and sweet, confirmed when he poked his finger into it and licked it off.

 _Didn’t I say I’d take care of myself? Didn’t I say I’d eat?_ His jaw tightened, his lips pursed. How hard was it, to just… _eat?_ He’d done it just fine for years. As a child, he would have eaten the whole fucking thing in one sitting, if he’d been allowed. _I can do this. Fuck it._

Without hesitating, he grabbed a fork, dug it into the side of the cake without bothering to cut it. It was his own goddamn birthday cake, wasn’t it? He shoved the first sticky, sweet mouthful past his lips, and then another. It tasted good, and his stomach actually seemed to appreciate it when he swallowed his first bite of food that day.

It took about four bites for his body to catch up with what was happening. But the problem with anorexia, of course, was that his body no longer answered to his mind, it only answered to his illness. In his mind, he knew that he wanted to eat, to live, but— 

_I guess this is what people mean by recovery. I guess I can’t just decide to be better._ This time, he had to force himself to swallow, and almost immediately, his stomach churned, squeezed, rejected. Stumbling, he hurried to the bathroom, leaving the cake on the counter with the fork still stabbed into it.

 _Easy come. Easy go._ At least this was a welcome distraction from his heart, which he was sure was still fluttering. Besides, he was no stranger to puking at this point; a small part of his mind found it cathartic rather than unpleasant. Still, it left him in tears, trembling and hiccuping as he rested his head against the tile wall and fumbled in his pocket for his phone.

 _“I don’t deserve you. I really don’t._ 💗 _Thank you for remembering, hyung. It means more than I can even tell you.”_ (Leaving out inconsequential details like _I puked up your cake, I’m sorry_ was only for Chenle’s benefit. As much as possible, he didn’t want his boyfriend to have to worry.)

XXV.

It was rare for Chenle and Jisung’s days off to line up. Jisung was always traveling, working inconsistent hours; Chenle was working non-stop in preparation for an Asia tour that would take them three full weeks to complete. But a few days beforehand (maybe a little interference from fate), Chenle had a day of no practice and Jisung had a day of no jobs. For once, they were able to see each other at a normal hour, not at 11 PM after Chenle had been dancing all day and Jisung had been dragging himself from shoot to shoot.

For once, things felt normal— or at least, what Chenle imagined normalcy to feel like. He and Jisung were able to meet at a restaurant for lunch, and while they couldn’t be openly affectionate, they could talk, eat (not that Jisung ate much), and even take pictures together for Jisung’s Instagram. There were a _few_ nice little perks to same-sex dating, and the most obvious was that people would assume that they were “just friends” until they couldn’t anymore.

Afterwards, they headed back to Jisung’s apartment, and this time there was no watching the clock, no battling exhaustion to stay awake together, no looming knowledge that Chenle had to be back to the practice room in just a few hours. That made it easier for Chenle to put everything aside, to relax and have fun, even with Jisung’s illness and his own intrusive thoughts looming.

“Ugh— what are you doing!”

“You never sent me a picture of you when I asked you for one! You forgot!” Jisung reminded him, pouting slightly as he aimed his phone camera at Chenle once more. “I want a picture of you that’s just for me. Don’t I get that much?”

“I never know what to do with my face in pictures,” Chenle admitted with a nervous laugh, snatching one of the pillows from the couch and hiding behind it.

“Part of being an idol is being a model!” Jisung protested in disbelief.

“Not for me! I’m the ugly one!”

Jisung’s jaw literally dropped, mouth formed into a shocked circle. “You don’t _genuinely_ believe that? Who told you that? I think you’re adorable!”

Chenle sighed. Jisung was too nice for his own good, but it was something he’d already come to accept about himself. He didn’t have Jeno’s sharp features, or Renjun’s big sparkly eyes, or Jaemin’s dazzling smile. He knew he wasn’t ugly, but _adorable_ was sort of a stretch. “Adorable like a bulldog or something? So ugly I’m cute?” he teased dryly. “I always just smile in pictures, and my smile is gross. Half the time I’m modeling, like… school uniforms or some shit, anyway, so…”

“Chenle, you’re _not ugly._ Christ—” Jisung laughed quietly, raising his phone again. “All right, look. My mom paid out the ass for modeling classes when I was like twelve, and I’m going to let you pirate the information from my brain. Modeling is all about two things: angles and light. Oh, and practicing your faces in the mirror. You gotta figure out what expressions are attractive on you.” He smirked. “I like your smile, but I also like your pout. I think you could potentially have a _great_ ice-cold-bitch face.”

That was the thing about Jisung that he loved: he was always full of compliments, and they always felt so genuine. Jisung wasn’t a liar, Chenle refused to believe it. If Jisung said that he found Chenle adorable… well, he was probably telling the truth, even if that meant his tastes were fucked up and shitty. Just to humor him, Chenle took Jisung’s direction: narrowed his eyes a bit, relaxed his jaw, parted his lips, ran a hand through his unstyled hair while Jisung snapped a picture.

“I look _stupid.”_

“You’re kind of hot!” Jisung’s cheeks visibly pinkened (Chenle’s heart melted a little bit), but the next moment his boyfriend teased, “Except for the fact that your shirt is buttoned all the way up to the very top. I know you’re a young group, but don’t they let you guys show collarbones? You look like a priest or something.”

“I don’t have _nice collarbones_ like you,” Chenle argued, though his face went hot at the compliment. He hesitated for a moment before he acquiesced, undoing the shirt button at his throat, and then the one right below it. It was hard to ignore the trail of Jisung’s eyes down his neck, and he quickly posed again as an excuse to ignore it, closing his eyes this time.

“Can I kiss you, Chenle?”

The question never failed to make his heart race— Jisung had been dutiful about asking permission ever since he’d scared Chenle the first time. He was always cautious, probably inexperienced, but even imagining their lips together gave Chenle a thrilling jolt like an electric shock. Without having to think about it, he nodded, eyes still tightly shut as he tried not to picture the embarrassing blush on his own face. Jisung’s fingertips ghosted across Chenle’s cheek, settling on the back of his neck to pull him in— the kiss started out, like always, tense and uncertain while they found their rhythm, but then Jisung’s lips parted against his own and their mouths melted together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

All at once, their impromptu photo shoot was forgotten. Everything was _Jisung,_ his hands at Chenle’s waist, his body heat so close, his quiet gasp as Chenle’s teeth caught his lip between them. When he finally pulled back, eyes smoldering and breath unsteady, Chenle was caught off-guard by the surge of overwhelming affection that he felt— but then his heart leaped into his throat as Jisung began to kiss his neck, and suddenly it was hard to draw a breath.

“Is this okay?” Jisung’s voice reached Chenle’s ears, but it sounded miles away. Chenle was frozen, lost in a long-abandoned memory, hearing a voice right in his ear that he wished desperately to forget. _I won’t leave any marks, this is our secret. You don’t need to be so shy, baby— you can touch me. Want hyung to show you?_

“Chenle,” Jisung’s voice was a hum in the background, the sweet press of his lips against Chenle’s cheek negligible. “Hyung, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to. Hyung…” It was Jisung’s earnestness that brought him back, the near-desperation as he pulled Chenle to his chest, his heart racing flush against Chenle’s ear. Chenle hugged him back, around the waist: first shaky, uncertain, and then tight, tight, _tight,_ until Jisung drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry…”_

 _Why should he be sorry for wanting what every twenty-year-old in a relationship wants? I’m the one that’s fucked up. If I wasn’t— we probably would have done it by now. If I had a virginity to give up, I’d give it to him._ “Don’t be sorry,” he croaked, even his voice shaking. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. I want you to feel safe with me. I keep doing reckless shit without thinking, but I just— no, I shouldn’t say I ‘can’t help it’, because I can. If I do something that’s too much, seriously, hit me and call me a moron. I swear, I can learn.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” Chenle whispered, nuzzling into Jisung’s shoulder. “You’re okay. I’m just—” _I’m just not. I’m all fucked up, and I think the fairest thing would be to lay it all out, so you know what you’re getting yourself into._ The thought gave him a surge of anxiety, and he forced himself to focus on Jisung’s hand rubbing small circles on his back. “Can we go outside? Get some air?” he asked at last.

“Yeah. Let’s go to the balcony. I could use a cigarette,” Jisung confessed faintly. His grip on Chenle went slack as he stood up; as much as Chenle feared having Jisung close, feeling him let go was just as terrifying.

XXVI.

Jisung had never needed nicotine more than in that moment. The rush of his first drag was near-ecstasy, and seemed to steady his shaking hands. The balcony off his living room was big enough to give Chenle some space, and he sat carefully downwind, watching the smoke curl upwards into the overcast sky. The cold felt mild at first, but after only a couple minutes, Jisung’s fingers were starting to sting from it; Chenle had thought to grab his own jacket, but Jisung hadn’t bothered. _Oh well. I deserve this._

Truthfully? Jisung’s career was a matter of luck, and he knew that. The luck of being born to a pageant queen mother and a father with connections. The luck of having a near-perfect face, and enough money to buff the imperfections away. The luck of great body proportions (and, admittedly, a touch of self-control to keep himself from fucking them up). But luck wouldn’t be enough to keep Chenle, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that, not for a second.

Eventually, Chenle would see him for what he was, and there was no way he’d stay. _Or I’ll die. Or my heart will finally fucking give out, and I won’t be able to see through the one commitment I really care to keep._

“Jisungie, there’s something I need to tell you.” Chenle rested his hands against the balcony railing, only looking at Jisung out of the corner of his eye. “It’s fucked up, so I need to know that you’ll be okay if I say it. It has to do with— my scars.”

Suddenly, Jisung’s heart sped up. His cigarette was only halfway gone, but he let it drop from his fingers into the parking lot below. Chenle deserved his full attention. “You can tell me absolutely anything. I’m your boyfriend. That’s what I’m here for.”

“If you don’t want to date me after I tell you this, it’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Try me,” Jisung invited, managing a smile that he hoped was encouraging.

“All right. So…” Chenle trailed off with a sigh of distress, turning away from the view and sitting down with his back against the cold metal rail, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I came to Korea when I was fourteen years old. Everyone back home was always telling me how good I was, so my ego was all inflated and I thought this shit would be easy. I barely knew any Korean when I got here. I didn’t even know how to read Hangul. I was the only Chinese trainee in the dorms, so it was impossible to make friends. Everyone thought I was weird and quiet, but honestly, I was scared of misspeaking and making mistakes, so I just stayed silent. I wanted to quit _so_ fucking badly, Jisung, but my parents wanted this for me so much. They told me I was going to be a star, and— I’m their only kid, so of course I wanted to succeed.”

Chenle paused and wiped the tears off his cheeks with the heels of his hands, before they could freeze. Jisung wanted more than anything to dab them away himself, but he forced himself to stay still until Chenle indicated that he needed him.

“When I was fifteen, the company hired a new dance instructor. He was Korean, but he’d studied in Beijing, and he spoke fluent Mandarin. He was the first person I was able to communicate perfectly with, and it felt _so_ fucking good. Everyone liked him, but I think I— I leaned on him a little more than the other trainees did. He helped me practice my Korean, he gave me lots of gifts— helped me sneak out of the dorms when I needed to get away from it all and decompress. He could have gotten in trouble, but he never seemed to care.” He paused, swallowing thickly, like he was choking on something. “I was fifteen. He was thirty-two.”

 _Oh. Fuck._ Suddenly, Jisung’s stomach sank. From that simple statement, he knew exactly where this was going, _and that’s why every time I kiss him— no. God, no. I don’t want to think about what he probably feels when I kiss him._

“He hurt you,” Jisung breathed, into the silence, his own voice seeming to be broken.

“Not at first. Not exactly.” Chenle looked down— pushing back the sleeve on his right arm, examining the prominent scar that he would probably have forever. “I’d never been able to tell anyone else that I was gay before, and here was this successful, openly gay man, telling me that I was fine exactly how I was… I knew it was stupid, but I had this big crush on him, and I was on cloud nine when he kissed me for the first time. The first time, all he wanted to do was kiss me. It felt so safe. I didn’t know how it could be anything _but_ safe.” He paused, biting his lip. “The second time, he told me that he wanted me to be his boyfriend, and he was going to show me the way that boyfriends showed love to each other. He— he made me suck him off. I didn’t like doing it, but I wasn’t sure how to say no. After that— he said that if I wanted him to keep being nice to me, I had to keep being nice to _him._

“I tried to end things, but he’d get so emotional and mad. He was easier to deal with when he was happy, so I just… let it happen, usually. Until one time in particular… he wanted me to come see him at his apartment, and when I got there, he was drinking. I’d never seen him drink before— it was terrifying. He told me that he loved me, and when I didn’t say it back, he told me that I’d never work as an idol if people found out I was gay. I begged him not to tell anyone, and… he said he’d keep my secret if I did something for him.” Tears streaked his face, tears that left angry red streaks in the cold, but his demeanor was cool and steady, like the story he was telling belonged to someone else. “It hurt. I wanted to go to the hospital after, because… I bled. But he wouldn’t let me leave until the morning, and by that point, I hadn’t slept and I just wanted to go home.”

Jisung’s hands were shaking, and not just from the wind picking up. He hated this, _hated this._ He would have been happier if Chenle just stopped there, if he didn’t have to hear the end of it. But unfortunately, Chenle had to live with the end of it every day, all by himself. To keep himself calm, he lit another cigarette; to keep Chenle calm, he offered him one, but there was no acknowledgement. Chenle’s eyes were still closed. _He was still there._

“After that, he went completely cold towards me. Nitpicked me to hell and back during every dance class. Made all the trainees run drills whenever I messed up. I was already unpopular, but suddenly I was a total fuck-up. I was miserable. I started having panic attacks, insomnia. I didn’t want to even go to the company building, and they nearly cut my contract because of so many missed lessons.” He bit his lip, _hard;_ Jisung finally gave into temptation, reached over to touch Chenle’s hand, but the older shrunk back by reflex and Jisung quickly pulled his arm back. “I hit my breaking point in the middle of a dance lesson. He told me my body positioning was wrong, and he came up behind me and grabbed my leg to fix it— no different than he would do to any other student, but I just— I couldn’t stand having him so close to me. I had a panic attack in front of everyone, I called him a pervert. I walked out and went home. And I tried to call my mom, but— but she was probably at work, and she didn’t answer, so I— so I left her a voicemail message apologizing and telling her that I loved her, and I stabbed myself in the arm with a kitchen knife. I actually don’t remember doing it at all, but… all I can figure was that I was trying to kill myself.”

How was Jisung supposed to respond, anyway? What was there to say in a situation like this? _“It’s okay”? It’s not. “That’s fucked up”? He knows that._ Jisung took a couple more drags of his cigarette in silence, dropping it quickly when it burned his fingers— how the fuck had he smoked it so fast without noticing? “I’m— I’m so fucking sorry. But I’m glad you told me,” he finally stated, which felt like a lame and half-assed answer. “I understand now…”

“When you kiss me and I’m not expecting it, or when I can’t see you coming and you touch me, sometimes for a split second, I think of him and I get… stuck, that’s all. I know it’s stupid, but…”

“It’s not stupid,” Jisung interrupted, lighting another cigarette. He was starting to get the spins, but it was all he could do not to grab Chenle and hold him tight. His hands needed to stay busy. _I don’t want to scare him. I hate that I scare him._ “We can move really slow, Chenle, I don’t care… I mean, that came off wrong. I _do_ care, and I want you to be okay, but— I don’t care that much about sex.”

“Really?”

“We don’t need to have sex. We don’t even need to kiss. We don’t even need to see each other in person, if it’s hard— we can go back to texting all the time. As long as you’re here, as long as you’re a part of my life, I’m happy.”

Chenle didn’t answer right away, and as impatient as Jisung was to find out where they stood, he bit his tongue and kept quiet, watching his cigarette burn down with a churning stomach. It didn’t seem fair to cry over what Chenle had endured, so he blinked hard and suppressed it, and he was successful until Chenle scooted himself closer and laid his head on Jisung’s trembling shoulder. The simple action made his eyeballs sting dangerously.

“I don’t want to stop seeing you. That would break my heart.” Chenle turned his head to give Jisung a peck on the cheek, snorting in a sad sort of amusement as he reached over to pluck the cigarette out of his hands and toss it away. “You’re shaking like a leaf! Forget this shit, let’s go inside. I’ll make you coffee. I— I don’t want to think about what happened anymore. I just wanted you to know that it’s not _you.”_ He let out a soft sigh, pressing his cheek into the soft material of Jisung’s t-shirt. “Telling someone feels better.”

Jisung smiled a little, raising one cold-numbed hand to run affectionately over Chenle’s dyed hair. “You go inside, I’ll be right there. I have a french press in the cupboard by the sink, and my electric kettle is by the window—”

Chenle made no move to leave, though; instead, his arms slipped around Jisung’s shoulders, hands rubbing warmth back into his arms. “I’ll wait,” he said simply, and the earnest affection in his voice made Jisung’s chest swell.

_I’ll wait, too._

XXVII.

That day hung in Chenle’s mind as a bittersweet memory. In those moments, spilling his guts, holding Jisung on the balcony while he shivered and shook, then sharing coffee and shy kisses to warm each other up, he didn’t think they had ever felt closer. They didn’t always have to say anything, either— sometimes a look was enough, a ghosting of fingertips across the back, an affectionate press of Jisung’s nose against his cheek.

A touch more sweet than bitter. Chenle went home that night feeling a little more complete than he’d woken up that morning.

Days later, Chenle was packing up a suitcase and preparing to leave for Dream’s Asia tour. Japan, China, Thailand, Indonesia, and the Philippines— he’d be out of Korea for three weeks, longer than ever before, with nobody but Seulgi and his members. Jisung, too, became busy around the same time: an MC gig at home in Korea, followed by a series of magazine shoots in Japan, and finally a runway appearance at Malaysian Fashion Week. Texting good morning and good night was all they could manage some days, and that fact made Chenle feel more alone than ever. (Being lonely had been easiest when Chenle didn’t know what he was missing out on.)

Spending 24/7 with his groupmates was every bit as miserable as Chenle expected. The five of them were so close; seeing the genuine hugs off-camera, the laughter, the in-jokes, it all reminded Chenle that he was always going to be _the other._ But when Seulgi caught them with the camera, filming behind-the-scenes content for their Vlive channel, Jaemin would throw his arms around him, Mark would fawn over him, Jeno would baby him, and Chenle would force a smile like this was exactly where he belonged.

“Chenle, come over here. We’re taking a picture for Instagram,” Renjun’s invitation had the tone of an order. They’d just arrived in Japan, and had one precious night off in the hotel before their rehearsals began the next morning— and Jisung would be on the runway at any moment, so Chenle was on a mission to find the livestream on TV as soon as possible.

“I don’t want to, hyung. I’m tired,” he said simply, settling on the bed closest to the window and flipping on the TV. “And I look like shit.”

“You always look like shit,” Jaemin barged in from the doorway, parading into Chenle and Renjun’s hotel room with the other three members trailing behind. “If you’re not in the picture, your fans will ask questions. Quit your bitching.”

Chenle was too tired to argue. The quicker this happened, the better. Despite his tired, bare face and his atrocious hat-hair, he scooted close to Mark when the other sat beside him on the bed, and he put a faux-affectionate hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder as the elder lay his head in Chenle’s lap. _Smile._

He smiled. In Jeno’s phone screen, he could see his reddened eyes, his sickly pale skin, the frenzied and forced cheer in his grin. It wasn’t working anymore. He couldn’t just _smile._

“We should get beer,” Donghyuck announced as soon as he sat up, though neither himself nor Mark stood from Chenle’s bed. “Chenle, I’ll send you with my card, you should buy us some.”

“I’m tired. I don’t want to drink. Besides, I want to watch this.” He’d found the fashion show at last; he didn’t follow fashion, he didn’t recognize the tall and handsome men who were stomping down the runway like they owned it, but he’d keep watching until he saw his _own_ tall and handsome man.

“What the fuck? I’m your hyung.”

 _“Barely.”_ Chenle didn’t look away from the screen. He was beyond looking, beyond caring. Renjun had gotten in such trouble for hitting him, he had no fear that any of them would put their hands on him again, and especially not the night before a concert.

“Since when are you into this kind of shit?” Jaemin questioned, snorting derisively. “Not even the women’s runway? Lame. Nothing interesting to look at.”

“Go back to your own room, then. I don’t care.”

 _“Gay,”_ Donghyuck jeered immediately.

Chenle might have responded, might have even kicked Donghyuck’s negative ass off of his bed, but his attention was drawn to the screen suddenly like a magnet. _Jisung:_ his tall, willowy body clad in a bright blue jacket, almost knee-length and wrapped around his body with an artistically asymmetrical sash. The top revealed a daring glimpse of his collarbones and upper chest, and below, his impossibly thin legs were emphasized with skin-tight black skinny jeans. The others would never understand the pride that Chenle felt, blooming in his chest— the pride, or the worry, or the torturous desire to yank Jisung out of the spotlight and into his arms. His face was chicly expressionless as always, but his eyes were… almost soulless, really. No life to them.

“Male models are always so weird looking,” Renjun commented lightly from the other side of the room. “He looks like Skeletor.”

“He looks like _you,_ chopstick legs,” Jaemin played back instantly, taking as much joy as ever in teasing the members he actually liked.

“Piss off!” Renjun huffed, grabbing his wallet from his luggage. “Fine. Jaemin can go buy us beer, and we can drink in _his_ room. This is boring.”

 _Yes, leave. Fucking leave._ Chenle stayed right where he was, settling into the bed and clutching one of the pillows to his chest, eyes never leaving the TV. Jisung reached the end of the runway, shifted his weight into a natural pose, turned slowly and cast a final glance over his shoulder before starting the long walk back. Everything about him seemed so powerful, but Chenle knew how fragile he was. _Does he feel the same way, when we aren’t together? Empty?_ When Jisung disappeared, Chenle’s eyes stung, and he shut them tight, willing himself not to cry.

 _I just want to feel full for once. I want to feel complete._ He blinked, sniffled, wiped the tear from his cheek. The show continued, of course, but if it wasn’t Jisung, then Chenle didn’t care.

“Hey… you good?”

Chenle glanced up in shock at Mark standing in the doorway; he could hear the others’ voices down the hotel hallway, very faint, but Mark seemed to have no interest in joining them. His eyes were locked on Chenle’s, concern and shock combined in a way that felt new.

“You’re asking now, but you didn’t ask when Renjun punched me in the face? Weird.” Despite it all, Chenle couldn’t keep himself from making this little dig while he had the chance. He turned the TV volume down, wiping his eyes once more and pulling back the blankets to settle himself into bed. Normally he couldn’t stand to sleep unshowered, wearing his clothes from the day, but he couldn’t find the energy that night to do anything about it. “I’m fine, hyung. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re different lately. We’ve all noticed,” Mark said softly, though Chenle didn’t allow himself to see the older’s expression. “I know things haven’t been great, Chenle, but— we don’t hate you or anything. I mean, _I_ don’t hate you. If you need anything…” He trailed off, leaving silence before them.

“I just want to be by myself, that’s all.”

“Okay. I’ll ask the others to lay off of you, all right?” Mark was clearly waiting for more, but Chenle had no intention of giving it. “Text me if you need anything.”

As if on cue, Chenle’s phone buzzed. _Jisungie,_ the notification informed, making his heart speed up. “Okay,” he answered hollowly, waiting for the click of the door latching closed before he could breathe normally again.

XXVIII.

Jisung’s vision had gone dark halfway through his return trip down the runway. When he stumbled, he hoped that the cameras didn’t catch it— it was just a little trip, a quick recovery, but it was embarrassing all the same. He was thankful, sardonically thankful, that his body waited until he was backstage before he lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor.

Darkness felt good, actually. Felt nice. Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept really well, but this was weirdly close.

“Jisung— _Jisung—”_ Joohyun, who could never leave well enough alone, insisted again and again on badgering him. Her arm was tight around his thin waist, her voice prodding in his ear insistently until his eyes opened. “Are you okay? Come sit down. It’s really warm back here— hey, you, can we get some water?”

 _“Christ,_ it really is warm back here.” Jisung could feel his tongue slurring. Okay, that wasn’t so nice. He did his best to focus on what was around them, the rushing of staff and models, the loud music booming in the stage speakers. The show was still going on, he was supposed to be hurrying to change his clothes and go back out, but instead he was clumsily swallowing water out of the bottle that Joohyun was forcing to his lips.

“Are you okay? That was scary! I’m glad you caught yourself.” Joohyun’s response came with a hollow, half-sincere laugh, which snagged onto Jisung like a barbed hook. _How can you ask if I’m okay? People who are okay don’t throw up after meals or write down everything they eat or pass out from overexertion after a short walk._

“I— I wanna go home.”

“Just stay there. Give yourself a minute before you try to change, we’ll see if the moment passes.”

 _Try to change. She wants me to go back out._ The idea had Jisung bewildered, and he shook his head firmly. “I’m going to pass out, i-if I stand up again—”

“Just relax for a second. Wait and see.”

For some reason, Jisung’s brain flashed back to Chenle— _“Do you like being a model? If you could go back in time, would you do it again?”_ What had possessed him to say yes? No, no, no— he didn’t want this anymore. He wanted to be back home, on his couch, snuggled up in Chenle’s arms. How funny, he hadn’t even known the existence of his romantic side until this relationship fell into his lap. _I still don’t deserve him. I really don’t. I’m going to die soon, and he’s going to have to deal with it._

“Bring me my phone,” Jisung managed, his hands still shaking. “And— and something to eat. Please.”

“All right, all right. Give me a second.” Joohyun disappeared from his side for just a few minutes; when she came back, she had his phone in one hand, a half-crushed package of cookies from her bag in the other. Probably not the most nourishing thing, but he took them anyway— the phone, though, that was what was more important. KakaoTalk, _dreamingcl— “Are you busy tonight? I really need to call you. Headed back to the hotel soon.”_

Chenle’s response was instantaneous: _“I’m not busy at all. Please call me, I miss you. You were AMAZING on the runway by the way, you could not possibly have a more proud boyfriend_ 💕”

Honoring Joohyun’s wishes, Jisung sat and nibbled on a cookie, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass— but the show’s director had already pushed off Jisung’s next outfit on another model, probably for the best since his knees were still shaking when he stood. It was a disappointment, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to lose the payment he was supposed to receive from the show, but he found himself curiously numb to that fact as Joohyun helped him out to the car. His mother would have been livid, probably would have pushed him back out onto the catwalk whether he was stable or not. For once, he was sort of happy for the manager he had.

Joohyun dropped Jisung off at the hotel before doing anything else, promising to find a convenience store to get him something proper to eat; as soon as she was out of sight and he could no longer hear her footsteps, he found Chenle’s name in his contacts and called him up. He was still trembling, feeling nauseated from his empty stomach, and— and truthfully, he hadn’t made up his mind as to what he wanted to say yet.

“Jisungie!” Jisung could _hear_ the smile in his boyfriend’s voice when Chenle greeted him, which only made his heart sink further. _Dating him is selfish. I started because of my stupid savior complex, because I wanted to erase those scars on his arms— but one way or another, I’ll eventually hurt him even more than he’s hurt himself._ “I was so excited to see you— you did _such_ a good job! Honestly, the only way watching it would have been better is if you were here with me…”

“You’re all by yourself?”

“Ah— yeah. The others went out to drink, but I stayed back. Didn’t want to deal with it.” Chenle’s tone darkened when the other Dream members were brought up, even in passing. “I can’t wait for this stupid tour to be over, honestly. Performing is barely fun anymore. I miss you.”

Jisung felt his throat tighten. “I miss you, too,” he whispered. “Chenle, I’m— I’m having a really hard time.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight. And in general.” Despite his lethargy, Jisung was feeling unable to hold still; he rested the phone by his head so that his arms could be free to grip one of the pillows against his chest. “Chenle, I— I passed out after I got off the runway. I was supposed to walk again, but I couldn’t. It was really scary.”

“What?” Chenle’s voice went sharp with his concern, and Jisung winced. “Did you go to the hospital? Are you okay? You’re not alone now, are you?”

“I’m fine. Joohyun noona went to get me something to eat. I’m just shaken, and— hyung, it’s stupid, but it made me worry about you. That’s all I could think about. How if something happened to me, you would be hurt.” Jisung squeezed his pillow extra-tight. “I feel like you should break up with me before that happens, but I don’t want you to because I’m selfish as fuck.”

“Jisung—” Chenle cut himself off with a sigh, and an irritated click of his tongue. “I’m not breaking up with you. If you want us broken up, you have to do it.”

“No fucking way. _Selfish,_ remember?”

“Yeah. Selfish in every way except the way that would benefit you,” Chenle mumbled, falling silent for the most nerve-wracking moment Jisung could imagine. Finally, he whispered, “I know you’re sick, Jisung. I didn’t want to say anything, but I read your journal. I was sort of hoping that… that if I told you about what happened to me, you might be open with me about… _that.”_

“Oh.” Jisung closed his eyes, feeling woozy again. _Fuck._ “That’s…”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah. Maybe not, but...” At the same time— not having to bring it up, not having to be the first one to _say it,_ was an odd sort of relief. Would he have come out with it on his own? He honestly wasn’t sure. “But you’re right. We need to talk about it. Maybe in person?”

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure. I’m just— _incredibly_ sorry.”

“Like I said… I like having someone to worry about me for once.” Jisung found himself smiling; it felt like he should have been angry, but at Chenle, at the only person who had ever dared to _care?_ The thought made his heart melt into mush. “More than anything, I think I should be thanking you. I’ve never talked about this with anyone else…”

“You can talk about anything with me. I hope you know that. My emotions might be sort of fragile, but… for you, I’ll always find a way to power through.”

“I— oh,” Jisung cut himself off, his heart pounding at the sound of Joohyun’s voice in the hallway, chattering away on the phone as she fumbled for her key card. “My manager is back. I gotta go. I’ll text you tomorrow. And— as soon as you’re back to Korea, we’ll talk. I promise.”

“Okay, Jisungie. Get some sleep.”

“You’ll be okay, too?”

“Of course I will.” Chenle chuckled quietly— and in that moment, it almost felt like they were side by side, like Jisung could reach out and hug him. He squeezed the pillow in his arms, tight, _tight._ “Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”

 _Love you._ It almost felt like Jisung had misheard. Or maybe it was a joke— maybe Chenle would laugh, maybe Jisung was supposed to laugh? But after half a beat of silence, what came out of his mouth instead was a whispered confession that left him breathless: “Love you, too.”

 _“Jisung, I think I left the key in there. Let me in!”_ Joohyun called through the door, barely pulling his attention.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

_“Jisung, you’re not dead, are you?”_

Jisung’s hand was shaking as he hung up the call. “I’m not dead,” he called out softly, throat tight and hoarse. “Just— one second. Sorry.” He blinked hard, dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. They’d barely been dating for two months. It was certainly too early for _I love you’s_ , and honestly, Jisung wasn’t even sure that he knew what love felt like.

_I hope love feels like this. I hope this is love._

When Jisung opened the hotel room door, it was with tears in his eyes, and Joohyun’s brows knitted together at once. “Jeez. You really are in rough shape, aren’t you? You sure you didn’t hurt yourself when you fell?”

“No, I’m just— _starving._ What did you bring me?” He eyed the fast food bag in her hands; his nausea was gone suddenly, and he really was _ravenous._

She passed over the fast food bag with a little smile. “Chicken nuggets. Figured you could use some protein,” she teased lightly. “I’ll be in my room. If you start feeling dizzy again, blow up my phone. I’ll turn my ringer up all the way.”

Jisung felt a little wave of disappointment. Maybe he could have used the rest, but he was giddy suddenly, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. “Wait. Come in and watch TV with me.”

Joohyun’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” They were friendly, but never _friend-ly,_ never closer than professional. It probably did feel like something out of left field but… well, everything was already becoming different.

“Yeah. I’m feeling kinda lonely. Let’s see if we can find anything on the TV that we can actually understand.”

Joohyun shrugged. “Huh. Sure.”

Jisung smiled to himself, making his way back to the blanket nest he’d established for himself. Everything was changing— not good yet, but certainly different. _Maybe someday… who knows._

XXIX.

The tour had been… bearable. Mark must have talked to the other members, because true to his promise, they’d done more ignoring than chastising throughout their travels. Yeah, it was uncomfortable, but it also gave him room to keep his focus. _I’m here for the stage. That’s_ why _I came here, all those years ago. I loved this once, and I want to learn to love it again._

And of course, the ulterior motive: _There’s going to be fancams, and Jisung will probably watch them, and I want him to see the best performance that I can give._ Even thinking Jisung’s name made his heart race. His “love you” had been an instinctual thing, almost a mistake— _but he loves me back. He said he loves me back._

_“HYUNG HYUNG HYUUUUUNG i watched so many illegally recorded fancams on Twitter and AAAAAAAAAAA” “Love it love it love it love it” “Why don’t you ever sing for me in person” “I want your voice to give me a hug”_

_“What the ACTUAL fuck jisung”_

The closer Dream came to the end of the tour, the more Chenle buzzed with excitement, with anxiety. There were hard conversations to be had. There was progress to be made. But first, just for a minute— Chenle was eager to kiss Jisung, hold him tight, and forget everything else.

The plane from China touched down in Seoul early in the afternoon. Seulgi dropped Chenle off at home; Chenle ducked inside to drop off his luggage and hug his mom, and then, with a flash of guilt, he told her that he was going to the dance studio that evening. On the way to Jisung’s house, he stopped at the grocery store and bought a generous package of _hanwoo_ beef. Then, he made his way to Jisung’s apartment, and gathered his emotions in front of the doorbell.

 _“Chenle?”_ Jisung’s response through the intercom was instant, and the moment Chenle confirmed, he heard the _click_ of the unlock. _“Hurry and come in!”_

The Jisung that answered the door was bare-faced, unstyled, his cocoa-brown hair pinned out of his eyes with bobby pins, and he wore an oversized hoodie that Chenle recognized instantly as one of his own. Honestly, he’d never looked more _perfect._ His shoulders were tensed, he gave a little shiver; _trying to restrain himself,_ Chenle realized with a start, _trying not to scare me._ “Holy shit. Can I hug you?” he asked, wringing his hands to exert some of that anxious energy.

“Come here,” Chenle replied bluntly, dropping the groceries where he stood and pulling Jisung in before even taking his shoes off. Their lips came together a little clumsily, teeth bumping a little with the ferocity behind it— _perfect, perfect, perfect._ His arms went tight around Jisung’s neck, fingers lacing behind him, and their lips didn’t part until Jisung had to gasp for air.

“Fuck.” Jisung sighed, smiling as his forehead rested against Chenle’s. “I mean, hi.”

“I missed you so much.”

“Don’t _even_ get me started.” Jisung chuckled. “I think about you all the time. It’s actually kind of pathetic.”

 _I love you._ Saying it in person was a totally different thing, and even thinking about it had Chenle tongue-tied. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and offered up: “I brought meat and vegetables. I was thinking we could cook together.” His heart slammed against his ribs; he didn’t want to ruin the bliss of the moment, but he knew that protecting Jisung started with honesty. “You feel so thin. I’m worried. Will you eat something with me, Jisungie?”

It was hard to read Jisung’s emotion. If he was upset, or worried, or self-conscious, Chenle didn’t notice it in the way that his smile crinkled his eyes. “Yeah! That sounds good. I’m pretty hungry.”

Chenle was glad that he brought food, because Jisung’s kitchen was still concerningly empty. He had rice and cooking oil, at least, and Chenle tasked Jisung with loading up the rice cooker while he sliced vegetables and heated up the frying pan. “I, uh— I brought mild kimchi, wasn’t sure if you liked spicy…”

“Ah, that’s good! I’m a baby when it comes to spicy food. Not much of an adventurous eater, either…” Jisung’s gaze was carefully averted out the window, nails tapping on the sill. No cigarette— in fact, the ashtray that had once been there was gone completely. Usually, silence was comfortable between them, but Chenle felt an edge of nervousness from Jisung this time.

“Should I put on music?”

“Sure. Put on Dream.”

“Ugh. _No._ I’m so tired of those songs,” Chenle laughed weakly, selecting something completely different— lo-fi hip-hop, the music he knew that Jisung preferred. Despite the awkwardness, there was a warm sense of domesticity in cooking with Jisung hovering beside him. He didn’t know how to help in any culinary sense, but he sure was good moral support.

“I guess this is the part where I should thank you for calling me on my bullshit,” Jisung murmured at last, hugging Chenle tentatively from behind and pressing his mouth lightly against Chenle’s shoulder.

“I think… that’s what boyfriends are supposed to do?” Chenle turned his head to kiss the apple of Jisung’s soft cheek, trying to disguise the fact that he was feeling shaken. He could only imagine how Jisung himself was feeling. The nauseating fear of baring his soul was still fresh in Chenle’s memory. “I’m here, Jisungie. I want you to talk to me. I want to take care of you… honestly, I’m not sure if I’m the best person to give you what you need and deserve, but I’m going to try so hard…”

“I know,” Jisung murmured, his voice smaller than Chenle had ever heard it. He was usually confident, even when he didn’t have the grace to back it up, but this new iteration of Jisung was just begging for Chenle to wrap him up in his arms and protect him from everything scary in the world. He gave Chenle an extra squeeze, like a security blanket. “So… I want to tell you. I think I’ve been anorexic for like… three years? It’s hard to definitely say when it started, there was no ‘moment’. It started as something else and it just… spiraled.”

 _I don’t want to make him feel weird about it. I should be just as calm as he was with me._ Even so, Chenle didn’t want to come off as cold, and as he continued to toss the meat around the pan, he placed a consoling hand on Jisung’s arm around his waist. “I know there’s a lot of pressure. Probably even more than I realize, for a model. But it scares me to think about how little you eat.”

“Yeah. It scares me, too,” Jisung confessed quietly. His grip on Chenle loosened, and he stepped back to stand on his own. Chenle snuck a peek, and he was surprised, _pleasantly_ surprised, by the intensity and determination on Jisung’s face. “It’s like I told you: I stopped eating to worry my mom, originally. My mom used to be a pageant queen, and she was _so_ anal about my weight when I was growing up. I used to have chubby cheeks, so she put me on a diet when I was like… eight. She told me I couldn’t act if I was fat. I think that’s when I started to hate her.”

“And… your father?”

“Whipped and busy. He works a lot,” Jisung replied flatly, with the most apathetic shrug Chenle had ever seen. “I don’t know. I wasn’t worried about my weight, I just wanted to eat candy and ice cream and McDonald's. But she got me into the habit of weighing myself every day, and pounded it into my head that I should be happy when that number went down. Starving myself, though… that was all my idea. I wanted to piss her off. I wanted to worry her. I wanted to make her feel like she fucked me up, so maybe she’d change.”

It was hard to listen to; Chenle wondered if his own confessions had pulled on Jisung’s heart in the same way, like a barbed hook tearing into his flesh. He turned off the heat beneath the pan and moved it off the burner, but made no move to grab plates, no mention of serving. Instead, he turned to Jisung to meet his eyes, confronting the pain in his face. “I’m guessing that she didn’t?” he asked quietly, tightening his fingers into fists, restraining himself from pulling Jisung in and squeezing him tight.

“Oh, it pissed her off. But it also settled in just as my career really took off, so I’m sure she thinks it was all for the best.” He smiled wryly, even as a tear spilled gracefully down each cheek. He even cried beautifully, and it all but broke Chenle. “You’re right. There are so many models like me, who just _don’t eat._ I’m nothing special. I always kind of hoped that someone at my agency would stop me and tell me that I was destroying myself, but why would they, when it was making them all more money? Every time someone compliments me on how skinny I am, or when fans ask me for diet tips… it makes this all feel normal, and that makes me realize how _utterly fucked in the head_ I am. This is _normal_ for me.”

“You’re not fucked in the head, Jisung…”

“We’re _all_ fucked in the head. All of us.”

Chenle really couldn't take this anymore. His arms were itching to be around Jisung once again. "Is it okay to hug you?" he nearly begged.

"You never have to ask. Anything you want, I'm yours." Jisung opened his arms for Chenle, welcoming him in; Chenle had to wonder if hugging him made Jisung feel as safe, secure, and _beloved_ as Chenle felt in his arms. "I love you," he said suddenly, hiding his tears in Chenle's messy hair. "God, it feels so weird to say. I feel like such a dork."

Surreal, that was the word for it. Chenle had to actively resist the impulse to protest, or to dismiss the notion in his mind. _Don't love me, you deserve better. Don't love me, I'm not enough. Don't love me, I'm all used up._ But with Jisung's heart beating against his own, how could he push it away? "You _are_ a dork, but not because of this specifically," he teased lightly, tilting his head up for a kiss and running his fingers lovingly through Jisung's hair. "I love you, too. _Dork."_

"Good. _Someone's_ gotta." Jisung's joke hit like a gut punch, before Chenle could process that it was indeed _a joke;_ it broke his heart, thinking that Jisung could make it twenty years feeling so unloved, so alone. Then Jisung pulled back, bunching up his hoodie sleeves to wipe his eyes. "I'm hungry. You should feed me."

_"What?"_

"I'll eat if you feed it to me. You left me alone in Seoul for too long with my attention whore tendencies unchecked!" One more squeeze, one more smooch on the forehead, and Jisung turned gently out of Chenle's arms to get plates from the cupboard. "It smells _so_ good. By the way, meat is my weakness. Fuck vegetables, but you made a good call with _hanwoo."_

The feeling of Jisung's lips on Chenle's forehead seemed to linger for a satisfyingly long time, making Chenle feel light as a feather. And while Jisung didn't eat much, just a few mouse-nibbles of food from Chenle's chopsticks, they were the first bites of food that he'd taken in front of his boyfriend. Every journey, Chenle knew, started with a step.

XXX.

Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he had been to his mother’s home— stepping out of the cab and climbing the steps, he felt a twinge of nostalgia for the life he’d once had here. Playing Nintendo in the living room. Standing on a kitchen chair to watch his mother prepare dinner. Practicing skateboard tricks in the entry hallway and breaking his ankle; his mother had been furious, since she’d asked him not to skateboard in the house a million times, but she’d still held him in her lap on the way to the hospital and soothed him while he cried. Where had that all gone, anyway?

There was only a twinge of that person in his mother’s plastic face anymore, the slightest hint of regard as she looked him from head to toe and back again. Funny, she didn’t model anymore, but she seemed to put even more effort than Jisung did into looking flawless. “Glad you could make it around the house for once. Lunch is in the dining room already. How was Malaysia?”

Jisung shrugged. It wasn’t often that she invited him over for meals anymore. She must have realized, after a certain number of ignored texts, that he had no interest in seeing her. She’d probably been surprised when he asked if he could come over and see her, out of the blue. “Kinda sucked. I collapsed backstage. I had to leave early, which broke my contract, so I only got a quarter of the pay.”

“That’s why you need to take care of yourself, Jisung. I know you don’t like being told what to do, but—”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m getting my life in order. Cleaning house, so to speak.” Jisung sat across from his mother at the table, allowing her to serve him. The usual diet fare: kimchi, salad, lean chicken baked with herbs instead of fried with sauce, and no rice. It was weird, but he’d missed plain white rice terribly. He couldn’t keep much of anything else down, but rice was bland and soft and satisfying, and he’d eaten a generous portion of it the night before, trying to remind his body what it was like to _be full._ It wasn’t pleasant, and he’d lay in anxiety afterwards, trying not to think about being sick. But _god damn it,_ he’d succeeded.

Pushing everything out of his mind, Jisung snatched up a piece of the chicken off of his plate and put it into his mouth. It was flavorful, but so dry that it was hard to swallow, and he was forced to hold it in his mouth until he could muster up the willpower. His mother raised an eyebrow (he was surprised she still could, honestly). “You’re eating again? Not worried about getting fat anymore, eh?”

 _Of course I am. I’m fucking terrified._ Clenching his jaw, he swallowed hard. “I don’t care. I won’t be modeling for much longer. What’s it matter?”

“You still have four years left in your contract. Don’t be stupid.”

Jisung took another bite, just to spite her, though chewing it made his eyes water. “I know I do. I’m _not_ stupid. I need you to buy out my contract so I can leave. I’m not happy.”

“Buy out your contract?” she repeated with a scoff. “Why should I?”

“Because you have all of the money _I_ earned these last three years, sitting in your bank account.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve been using it to pay your rent,” his mother snapped back, setting her own chopsticks down. “All your clothes. Your food. Your nose. Your eyes. Your chin. You’ve been a costly investment, Jisung. If you want to start earning your own money directly, that’s fine— you can start covering your own expenses with it. But we’re not going to tank your career just because you think we owe you the freedom. I don’t owe you a thing. It’s what _you_ owe _me.”_

Jisung swallowed. _Torture._ “I’m an international supermodel. I’ve made _billions_ of won, and I’ve never asked for any of it. I’ve helped you live comfortably. Help me live comfortably, too.” There was no movement to her face, not a brush of empathy, and Jisung’s stomach churned. His chopsticks fell onto his plate, abandoned. “I was going to take a break and come back as an actor. I would have given you a portion of my earnings. But I guess if you can’t compromise with me, I’ll have to blow everything up for all of us.”

“Jisung—”

“I’m gay. I have a boyfriend. If you won’t support me, he will.” It was a risky bluff— he and Chenle were still so new, only a few months along in their relationship. _We could break up tomorrow. One day, he’ll realize I’m not worth it._ Even so, Jisung tightened his jaw, darkened his eyes, challenging her.

“Don’t you _dare.”_ His mother’s face didn’t change, but her _voice_ did, rising in volume enough to rasp. “I don’t care if you’re gay. That makes no difference to me. But if you get found out by the company, it’s not just the end of modeling. You won’t have an acting career, either. You’ll end up working at a gas station, waiting tables in a restaurant— you’ll be _all washed up,_ and I won’t help you then. So don’t you dare.”

 _“Duh._ That’s what I’m saying. I don’t care about any of this shit anymore. I don’t care about my career. I’m going to be dead before long. Let me be free while I can enjoy it.”

Disbelief flashed through her eyes. Like a flipbook of emotion: confusion, anger, realization, desperation. “Quit being dramatic, all right? You don’t have to threaten me. Just— let me talk to your father. We’ll get a lawyer to talk to your company. Maybe we can get you a break if you’re feeling tired. We can get you a counselor. You’re not in your right mind. I can see that now.” She paused, staring down Jisung— but he wasn’t about to budge. _Not anymore. Never again._

“I want out. One way or another, I want out. Think about it.” Feeling stiff and dizzy, he forced himself to his feet, turning quickly to hide the disappointment on his face. “I’m leaving. I can’t eat your shitty cooking anymore. Sorry.”

“Sit down. Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Park Jisung?!”

“Wherever I want! Maybe to my boyfriend’s house?” It sounded a lot more confident than it felt, but his knees were shaking by the time he made it outside. He could still hear his mother rushing after him, and he didn’t want to waste time calling a cab— but as he pulled his mask over his face for anonymity, the restriction of his breath was suddenly too much. _I’m going to pass out. I’m going to die here like this. And I keep saying it’s okay if I die, but shit, I don’t want to die without Chenle._ He let his legs carry him as far as they physically could, and when he couldn’t run anymore, he picked the closest business to take cover, a coffee shop. No time to order anything, _I’m sorry, please understand—_ he barely made it to the bathroom before he was tossing up the paltry contents of his stomach.

It was a Friday afternoon, Chenle would almost certainly be stuck at the company building or working some kind of schedule— and being away from Chenle was starting to _hurt._ They were both too fragile to be moving this fast. _I’ll have to tell him what my plans are. But not yet. Not like this._ Instead, wiping his mouth carelessly on his sleeve, he pulled out his phone to text Joohyun.

_“SOS. Come get me. Emergency.”_

_“Whaaaa it’s my day off… this better be a real emergency. I’m not a chauffeur.”_

_“Fuck you. I’ll give you money if that’s what you need so badly.”_

_“Sorry, sorry, that was a joke. I’m putting my shoes on right now. Where are you?”_

(Honestly, he'd be sorry to leave. His manager cared more about him than his own mother, how sad was that?)


	4. Chapter 4

XXXI.

“At least there’s one thing you and I can agree on,” Jaemin announced loudly as he plopped down onto the practice room floor beside Chenle; Chenle didn’t even fully realize that Jaemin was addressing _him,_ until the elder threw his arm around his shoulders. “This song _blows.”_

 _“All_ of our songs so far have blown.”

“Yeah, but that’s just you. You don’t _like_ anything,” Jaemin complained, rolling his eyes as he let Chenle’s shoulders go. It came as no surprise that he was joking, and that hugging Chenle was _part_ of the joke— from his other side, Renjun and Donghyuck snickered between themselves. “We’ve finally sold out. We’re doing a song for a fucking _Coca-Cola_ commercial, guys.”

“Stop talking about it, you’ll make me depressed,” Jeno shot back as he entered the room, leaning down to stretch. “Seulgi noona is on her way with the choreographer. And you’ll never guess who the choreographer is— it’s Jaesuk hyung. If anyone here has sold out, it’s him!”

Chenle’s world froze with that one word. He was swimming sluggishly through a memory— _“You don’t have to call me ‘teacher’. I want you all to be comfortable with me. ‘Hyung’ is just fine, and if you ever need anything, think of me as an older brother, okay?”_

“Oh, shit, really?” Renjun raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly at Chenle. “Awkward…”

_“Why are you acting so shy? Your body certainly liked it enough.” He could still see his dance teacher’s face before him, could still feel the shiver of dirty, rotten disgust as Jaesuk wiped his cum-covered hand on the waistband of Chenle’s boxers. “No need to act like that, babe… you’re gonna return the favor, right? Just like I showed you?” His fingers slid through Chenle’s hair, once with affection, and then again with insistence, coaxing his head down into his lap; Chenle had never felt so tiny, so powerless, so filthy—_

There were five pairs of eyes watching him, but Chenle wasn’t there to react. He only snapped back into the moment when his lungs protested his held breath. “Are— are you sure?” he asked in a tremulous voice, looking to Jeno desperately. _Please be a joke. Please be a joke._

“Yeah, I saw him. You should get yourself ready, he’s going to get pissy if you’re not on your game today,” Jeno confirmed simply, avoiding Chenle’s eyes as he twisted his back one way and then the other.

 _Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?_ Chenle forced himself to his feet, weaving on rubbery legs and stumbling towards the door. Without warning, Jeno grabbed for his arm, but Chenle yanked himself away with enough force to make himself stumble— and from there, he had to run. Out of the practice room, nearly turning left for the nearest exit, but the sound of Seulgi’s voice and the approaching click of her heels on the floor sent him reeling in the opposite direction.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. Anywhere else. He’d curl himself up and hide in a fucking custodial closet until he was gone, if he had to.

“Chenle! Will you—” Mark sounded breathless behind him, but Chenle didn’t realize how close he was until his hand closed around Chenle’s shoulder and yanked him back around. “—fucking _stop?_ This is as good as throwing a tantrum. It makes _all of us_ look unprofessional! I get that you don’t like him, but that’s no reason to—”

_“Why are you avoiding me lately? You’re going to hurt my feelings.” His hand gripped tight, bruising, paralyzing. “If you’re not mad at me, prove it. Give me a kiss.”_

“No. Please don’t touch me.” Chenle’s tearful plea came as a surprise to them both, babbled half-coherently in Mandarin. Mark’s hand snapped away sharply, and he took a step back— _but he hadn’t. He came closer._ “Don’t touch me. Don’t— you make me feel _disgusting—_ you _ruined me—”_

“Chenle, I can’t understand you. What the fuck is wrong?” Mark’s voice trembled in kind, but Chenle barely noticed, focused on the sound of footsteps coming closer. _He’s coming closer._

“Hyung, forget it. Let noona deal with him. He’s just being a brat,” Jeno’s voice was heavy with disdain, but it felt a million miles away.

“I hate that I let you run away with no consequences. You raped me. _You raped me,”_ Chenle sobbed, and though the Mandarin words felt butchered beyond comprehension, consonants slurred and tones lost, it was cathartic to finally say them. “You raped me, and then you walked away from me like I never existed!”

“Holy shit,” Renjun’s voice was soft, but it cut through and pierced Chenle like an icicle. “Jaemin, go get Seulgi noona. Not Jaesuk.”

“What the f—”

 _“Go.”_ The command in his voice must have been enough, because there was no more argument. The next thing Chenle knew, there was an arm around his shoulders, and when he tried to flinch away, Renjun’s grip tightened reassuringly. “Stay here. Take deep breaths,” he urged in their native tongue, sounding more shaken than Chenle had ever heard before. “Did that seriously happen? Was it Park Jaesuk?”

 _Why did it take this long for somebody to care?_ Chenle wanted to scream his question aloud, but all he could think to do was hold onto Renjun tight. Not the lifeline he wanted, but certainly better than none at all.

XXXII.

 _My stomach is digesting itself._ Jisung had had the thought once, when his hunger pains were at their worst, and he thought about it almost every time they gripped him. _Getting better is easier said than done._

“Stop. Hold that angle. _Perfect,”_ the photographer directed. Jisung held the general pose, making tiny adjustments between snaps of the camera and trying his hardest to keep the intensity in his eyes. It was just a commercial shoot, easy - a suit and a snooty bitch face were all he needed to look expensive - but with everything going on in his mind lately, it was remarkably difficult to focus. He’d kept his nose to the grindstone since his conversation with his mother, biding his time and weighing his options, but he knew he couldn’t keep it up forever.

He wasn’t sure if recovery was an option for him, but he knew without a doubt that he would never recover if he stayed where he was. The industry was poisoning him. If he stayed, he would die; if he left— _who knows? Really, anything could happen._

After the first set of pictures, Jisung was directed back to the dressing room to change into the next outfit, have his hair fixed and makeup retouched. “Relax your face,” the makeup artist instructed lightly, pressing her finger to the furrow between his brows. “You’re too handsome to be giving yourself wrinkles.”

“Ha. Thanks.” Jisung tried to keep a straight face as he closed his eyes, but the nagging pain bloomed in his stomach again and made him bite his tongue. “My stomach just hurts a little. Hard to focus…”

“Do you want some water?” Joohyun questioned from where she stood near the door, absorbed in her phone. “It might soothe your stomach.”

“I—” _I don’t know if it’s hunger or anxiety. I can’t tell anymore._ Before he could even wonder how to articulate this, though, he heard his phone go off in Joohyun’s bag (his ringtone was still “My First and Last”, which made Joohyun roll her eyes). The sound instantly made Jisung’s heart leap. _Something’s wrong._ “Noona— give me my phone, please?”

“Now? Are you kidding? Let it go to voicemail.”

 _“Please?_ I think it’s important.”

When Joohyun tugged Jisung’s phone out of her bag, she glanced at the screen, of course; and it was an actual phone call, not a text message. So instead of _dreamingcl,_ she saw— “Chenle hyung? Wait… as in…”

“Just give it to me.”

“Chenle from Dream?”

“Noona, seriously!” Ignoring the stylist coming at him with eyeshadow already loaded on her brush, he got out of the chair and took the phone out of her hands, stepping out into the hallway without a word. Unprofessional? Maybe… but Chenle didn’t just call him in the middle of the day for no reason, and with the bad feeling he’d had lingering in his stomach all day, he couldn’t just leave it for later. “Hi, hyung?”

“Jisungie?” Chenle’s voice sounded even smaller than usual, hoarse and strained, and it tugged on Jisung’s heart with a single word. “I’m so sorry. I— I didn’t want to call my mom for this, but—”

“You’re okay. It’s no trouble. What do you need, hyung? I’m right here.”

“He’s here,” he whispered tearfully. His voice was muffled, a little hard to understand, but Jisung knew almost at once, and the pain in his stomach gripped him completely. He wanted to throw up, but there was nothing there— he swallowed stiffly, trying to hide his panic from Chenle as the idol continued on: “We got contracted to do this stupid ad song, and— _he’s_ the one who they brought in to teach us the choreography. I couldn’t even stick around to see his face. I— I had to run, Jisung— I can’t do this. _I can’t be here.”_

 _Can I leave right now? Joohyun would never let me, but I could maybe take a cab—_ he turned back to the dressing room door, but Joohyun was already standing in the hallway with her arms crossed, clearly unhappy, and he sighed. “Are you safe right now?” he questioned softly, cupping his hand over his mouth for some privacy. “Just take deep breaths. Listen to me— I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again.” It was a stupid thing to say when they were on opposite ends of Seoul, and the realization made Jisung’s throat tighten with helpless tears, but he wouldn’t let Chenle hear that. He’d promise him the moon and all the stars in the sky, if it would make him smile. “Your CEO is an idiot. He should have known…”

“I told everyone,” Chenle managed, voice choked and almost inaudible. “The members. Seulgi noona. Everyone knows what happened to me. They all think I’m pathetic, I know it. _What kind of person just lets that shit happen?_ I— I can’t face any of them. I have to go, I can’t _stay here.”_

“Ask your company for a hiatus! They caused this, and they never cleaned up the pieces properly,” Jisung encouraged at once. His voice was artificially strong, ripe with reassurance, when all he wanted was to crumple alongside Chenle. _He needs me right now._ “They owe you that much— and if they won’t give you time to get your mental health sorted out, then they don’t deserve you.”

“Leaving would be giving up, Jisung.”

“Leaving would be taking care of yourself. Something neither of us have ever done. Wild, isn’t it?” Jisung chuckled humorlessly, but then whispered, “Do you want to be the first of us to try? I don’t know much about the law, and— I honestly don’t have access to much of my own money right now, but I can try and help you find a good lawyer.”

“I don’t know. I just want to go home.”

“Go home, hyung. Go home, take a hot shower, put on that sweater of mine that I gave you. As soon as I’m done here, I can come over— or you can come to my place, or I can just call you on the phone and talk your ear off. It’s whatever you want, okay?” Jisung had a shoot the next morning, too, but that was the last thing on his mind.

“O-Okay. My mom might freak out— _fuck,_ I have to tell my mom. I don’t even know what to say…” Jisung heard Chenle’s quivering inhale as he tried to stay calm, and he whispered after a moment, “Just call me. I’ll answer. I promise, I won’t do anything crazy.”

“I have faith in you. You’re so strong.” Jisung looked pointedly in Joohyun’s direction again; she was frantically beckoning him back, eyes wide, and he waved her away as sternly as he could manage. She shook her head, her expression one of disbelief with rage simmering beneath the surface, but he’d deal with that later. Defiantly, he turned his back, and took one more moment for himself: “I love you, babe.”

“Okay. Love you.” It was a listless response, but Jisung couldn’t hold it against him. He swallowed his tears as he hung up, put his bitchy-model-face back on as he turned back to Joohyun.

“Eavesdropping is rude.”

“You are _so_ unprofessional! I ought to slap you, but I don’t want to ruin your makeup!” she snapped, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into the dressing room. “You owe me an explanation in the car, and it had better be a _damn_ good one.”

Jisung shrugged. “I don’t owe you shit,” he responded easily, and never had he been so convinced of his righteousness.

XXXIII.

_“DREAM’s Chenle to Take Hiatus: On March 26th, a representative from SM Entertainment revealed that Chenle is currently suffering from anxiety and will be sitting out of group activities for an indefinite amount of time. ‘Chenle is having a hard time with his physical and mental health, so we ask for the fans’ patience while he rests and recovers,’ the company stated at their press conference. ‘He will return to the group as soon as he feels able. We always prioritize the well-being of our talent, and hope for a smooth and speedy recovery.’ Dream will continue to promote as a five-member group, and have not announced any date changes for their upcoming Seoul concerts in April.”_

The statement was just as squeaky clean as Chenle had expected, but his anxiety was only exacerbated by the flurry of speculation swirling around the news. _“I’ve always wondered about Chenle’s relationship with the group. You can see it on their Vlives, he’s so quiet when he’s with his members, but he glows so brightly on his own…” “There’s no way that Dream isn’t involved. I’m sure he’s being bullied. The way he sits away from Jaemin during their behind-the-scenes video at their Japan concert, even flinches when Jaemin reaches for him. It makes me feel bad.” “I was a bullying victim myself, and I can see the discomfort in his face. Dream members are so fake. It makes my heart hurt for him, I wonder how much he’s endured silently.”_

Going online was painful. Leaving the house without eyes on him was unlikely. And as for seeing Jisung— at least for the first week or so, it hadn’t really felt right. Jisung insisted that it was okay, but Chenle didn’t feel like himself, and he didn’t want his boyfriend to see him so _deflated._ “Just for now, can we keep it to phone calls? Just for a little while?” he’d asked that night, when Jisung had dutifully called him after his shoot. “It’s not anything you’ve done, I promise. I still want to talk to you. I’ll call you every day.”

Jisung had agreed, of course, told Chenle it was fine, but it didn’t make Chenle feel any better about things. What had happened to the bubbly, confident, and talented teenager who had arrived in Seoul? Jisung deserved _that_ person, the boy who believed he could do anything— not the husk of a celebrity that couldn’t leave the house except for his three-times-a-week counseling appointments.

A broken person couldn’t fix a broken person. That was Chenle’s main motivation, every time he sat down across from that therapist and ripped his own chest open: _I’m getting better for my family, and I’m getting better for Jisung. I’m tired of living in the dark._

When Chenle invited Jisung over, it was when he couldn’t take being apart anymore. Not only that, but it was when his mother was touching the subject of returning to China, “just until you’re feeling better”... and while being with Jisung in his current state was hard, being _without_ him felt impossible. He needed to see Jisung in person again, to show himself as he was, a work in progress.

Perhaps more than that, he needed to show himself, as he was, to his mother. _Hey, Mom? I have a really close friend that I need you to meet. Is it okay to invite them to dinner?_ He’d leave her with that, and… well, he didn’t anticipate that his mother would be anything besides accepting, but he sure hoped that she saw the same little spark in Jisung that he saw.

When Jisung stepped into the apartment, Chenle was sure that any questions his mother had were answered: he’d spent the last half hour stressed and anxious, and when Jisung finally stepped through the door, Chenle hurried into his arms without hesitation and let Jisung wrap him up. Jisung still felt so thin in his arms, like he would break if Chenle squeezed too hard, but his very presence was a huge comfort: the sound of his voice right by Chenle’s ear, the subtle way he nuzzled against him, even the familiar scent of his skin when Chenle hid in the curve of his neck.

“Holy shit, I missed you,” Jisung breathed, pulling back after a long moment and placing his hands on Chenle’s shoulders. “Let me look at you for a second. I feel like I’ve almost forgotten what you—” His face changed the moment that he saw Chenle’s mother standing in the kitchen doorway, and he yanked his hands off of Chenle so he could give her a polite bow. “Hello! Uh— thank you for having me over. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

Chenle felt a warmth spread from his cheeks, a wave of goosebumps. He hadn’t felt quite so _alive_ since he’d shut himself inside— and it was Jisung, Jisung made him feel this way. “Mom, this is Park Jisung. This is…” _The light of my life for the past three months. Maybe the reason that I’m going through with this._

“Park Jisung,” she repeated carefully to commit it to memory, giving him a warm smile. Her Korean wasn’t quite as polished as Chenle’s, her accent more pronounced, but all the effort she’d put in for Chenle over nearly three years certainly showed. “Lovely to meet you. The food is nearly ready, but I’ll get you some tea in the meantime. Chenle, what are you doing? Take his coat.”

Her scolding kicked him into action, hurriedly hanging Jisung’s coat for him in the foyer closet— but when his mother disappeared back into the kitchen, they exchanged a single look and burst into quiet laughter together.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m just happy to see you in person. You look great, hyung.” Jisung smiled, and Chenle nearly laughed.

“I _do not._ I feel like a zombie these days.”

“Cute zombie.”

Chenle was not in the mood to argue— but the compliment put him in the mood to kiss, and he was determined to do it while he could. He cupped his face and kissed him quickly; it wasn’t much, but feeling Jisung’s gasp, and seeing the pure elation in his eyes when he pulled back, it was enough to light Chenle up.

Chenle’s mother had gone all-out with the meal: fried chicken, fresh vegetables, sesame-seasoned noodles, all with the high-grade green tea that they ordered specifically from China. Chenle did his best to watch Jisung without making it obvious; his boyfriend took small portions and small bites, focusing more on talking and entertaining than clearing his plate, but little by little the food disappeared. Afterwards, Chenle’s mother shooed them into the living room so that she could clean up (normally Chenle’s job, but when he had company, she wouldn’t hear of it), and they settled on the couch in a comfortable sort of quiet. All the words they needed to say, they could say on the phone. It was _touching_ that he craved: the way Jisung’s hands swallowed his own, the warmth of his arm around him, the delicate press of Jisung’s soft lips against his cheek.

Being apart made those moments all the more precious— especially with their future up in the air. When would they next be able to see each other? It was hard to say.

“I think my mom likes you! I can usually tell,” Chenle supplied helpfully, over the drone of the TV. “I told her… sort of. But I think she’s inclined to like anyone that I like.”

“I’m really glad. I was worried about that. Never done any of this before…” Jisung’s voice was faint, his fingers trembled in their grasp around Chenle’s hand. Was it nerves? He’d seemed so comfortable at the table with Chenle’s mother, so at ease— but he was an actor before he was a model, he reasoned. _I’d be terrified, meeting his mother. I wonder if he was really ready._

“Jisungie, everything’s okay, right?” Chenle asked softly, placing his other hand on top of Jisung’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m happy you’re here. But I hope it’s comfortable for you…”

“Mm.” The sound Jisung made was affirmative, but his voice dropped to a whisper, and he cast a nervous glance towards the kitchen to make sure they were completely alone as he confessed: “I’m trying to eat lately, but… it’s hard. Feeling full makes me feel so anxious. Like I just have to… you know. Get it out of me, and then I’ll feel better.” The thought made Chenle’s heart sink, especially as Jisung’s eyes closed to avoid his gaze. “I don’t want anyone to know,” he admitted quietly. “Especially not her.”

 _It’s not just mental, it’s physical, too._ Without shame, without even worrying about his mom walking in on them again, he pulled Jisung close and hugged him around the shoulders, as tightly as he dared. _It’s going to be a long road for both of us._

“I’m so, _so_ incredibly proud of you, Jisung. You’re always so strong. You’re strong for both of us.” It made him think back to the day he’d left the company, of Jisung’s voice on the phone, _you’re so strong._ Chenle wanted to provide that strength for Jisung, too. They’d both need something to lean on. “Hey— let’s try to keep your mind busy, and maybe it will be easier to let the feeling pass. I— I have a Nintendo Switch in my bedroom! I bought it when it was new, and then I barely got to play it because I got so busy with work… besides, Super Smash Bros. is pretty much only fun when you have someone to play against.”

“You think it’s that easy to distract me?” Jisung questioned, voice still soft, but lips turned up in a half-smile. “I haven’t played since middle school, but I bet I could still kick your butt.”

“Doubtful, you have the clumsiest hands of anyone I know. And I play a pretty brutal Princess Peach.”

“Then I guess we have no choice but to play,” Jisung replied; his voice stayed soft, but his half-smile had opened into a full-fledged grin. He didn’t stand right away, though— instead, he hugged Chenle around his waist and pressed his face into his hair for one more brief dose of comfort. “Everything is going to be okay,” he whispered almost inaudibly. Whether he was addressing Chenle or talking to himself, it was hard to say.

If it were true, it would be nice. All the pieces were still up in the air, though, and it was impossible to know where they would land.

XXXIIII.

It was easy to get lost in Chenle— especially when Jisung hadn’t seen him in so long. Maybe this was what it felt like, to not be a celebrity— spending time with no worries except for the ones directly in front of them, like Jisung’s inability to keep from launching himself off the edge of every Super Smash Bros. stage, like wanting to tell Chenle that his leg was asleep but not wanting his boyfriend to move out of his lap. The time flew by, mostly because Jisung didn’t want it to end. Before he knew it, it was nearly 11 PM, and Chenle’s mother was standing in his bedroom doorway, reminding them to keep it down so she could go to sleep.

“I’m sorry to have overstayed,” Jisung said at once, biting his lip. “I really should go, though. I’m thankful that you invited me over!” _I wonder if Joohyun is awake to bring me home? Or… never mind, I should just call a cab._

“Ah… I didn’t mean to keep you, either…” Chenle was still flustered from his mother checking in on them without warning; Jisung had never seen him move so fast as when he launched himself out of Jisung’s lap and onto the bed beside him, and his hands were still shaking with the adrenaline. “Guess I’ve been starved for socialization…”

Chenle’s mother smiled slightly. It was hard to tell her thoughts on all of this, though Jisung was still surprised at how unaffected she’d seemed at catching their embrace when he’d arrived. _Maybe when your child has been through so much hell, little things like sexual orientation seem unimportant. Imagine, a parent just wanting their child to be at his happiest._ “I’m not kicking you out,” she clarified, pulling him out of his thoughts abruptly. “It’s so late. Why don’t you spend the night? There’s no guest bedroom here, but there’s a rollaway bed in the closet.”

“I—” _I want to stay. I don’t want to leave. My apartment is empty._ The very thought made Jisung’s skin prickle with unease, and he felt that he had almost no choice but to accept. “I don’t want to be any trouble.” He looked to Chenle for the first time, his cheeks still burning red in the artificial glow from the TV. “It’s okay, right? I— I could always sleep on the couch, too.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I’d rather have you in here.” Chenle smiled, that shy little smile that always made Jisung’s heart melt into goo. Chenle’s mother brought the extra bedding from the hallway closet, bidding them goodnight and leaving them to set things up themselves. “You sure this will be comfortable for you?”

“Yeah! I actually like sleeping on the floor. It’s good for your back,” Jisung said brightly, rolling out the mat at the foot of Chenle’s bed. “Just promise you won’t step on me in the middle of the night.”

“I promise! I sleep like the dead.”

“And give me a goodnight kiss.”

“Attention whore,” Chenle teased, with nothing but affection in his voice as he crouched beside Jisung to oblige him. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you lately. Guess I owe you some kisses.” Jisung was about to agree, but Chenle interrupted by cupping his jaw and peppering his face with them, forehead and nose and cheeks, and finally lips— letting this one linger for a couple extra seconds before he pulled away.

“I love you, Chenle hyung.”

“You’d better.” The look on Jisung’s face made him break into giggles, and Chenle rubbed his nose affectionately against his boyfriend’s to soothe the sting of his joke. “I love you, too. I’m really glad you came over.” Chenle kissed him again, quicker this time, with more finality, before standing at last and getting himself comfortable in bed. Turned off the TV, shifted to plug in his phone and turn the ringer off, reached for Jisung’s phone to charge it as well.

“Sure you’re good down there?”

“Absolutely. Totally comfy.” (Maybe a little cold, but that came with the territory of being dangerously underweight. He’d survive.)

“Ah. Okay. Goodnight, Jisungie.” Chenle shifted to get comfortable, mattress creaking a little, and then there was silence. Jisung’s eyes fell closed, his breaths slowed down. He wasn’t particularly tired, but so many periods of sleep deprivation had taught his body to get rest when it could. _Besides— the sooner I sleep, the sooner we get to wake up together._ The thought warmed him from the inside, made him feel cozy.

“Jisungie?” Chenle’s voice came as a tentative whisper just a few minutes later, as if uncertain whether Jisung were still awake.

“Hmm?”

“If it’s okay with you…” He paused for a long moment, making Jisung’s heart flutter nervously. _He’s going to send me to the couch or something._ In full preparation for this, he sat up and grabbed his pillow, but was stopped as Chenle continued, “You can sleep here with me. Like, in my bed.”

Jisung’s mouth immediately went dry. “Like… because you don’t want me sleeping on the floor and you feel bad? Or because you want me up there?” He swallowed with a little difficulty, willed his voice not to crack as he added, “I’m really okay here.”

“You’re my boyfriend. I don’t want this to feel like an elementary school sleepover.” Chenle laughed weakly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… _I_ want you here.”

Well, when he put it _that way…_ who was Jisung to argue? Bringing his pillow with him, he scrambled up the side of the bed and made himself comfortable as close to the edge as he dared; Chenle’s bed was big enough to sleep without touching, and for that, at least, he was thankful. “Is this okay, hyung? I don’t want to… y’know.” _Scare you. Or feel you up in my sleep. Or wake up with a boner. Holy shit, I would die of embarrassment._ “I… I’ve never shared a bed with anyone before. I don’t know how I am.”

“You can come closer. I want to cuddle.”

Chenle’s bluntness took him by surprise, but Jisung still wiggled closer, seeking out the warmth that he could feel so close; Chenle’s arm snaking over his hips made him jump with surprise, but he settled quickly and closed his eyes again. This was nice. _Really_ nice. He could get used to this. “I won’t be offended if you get uncomfortable. Just wake me up and kick me back onto the floor if you have to,” he added helpfully, even as he wrapped his arms around Chenle in return. “You’re so warm. I always run cold…”

“Good. I’ll be your space heater,” Chenle teased softly, giving Jisung a clumsy peck in the dark, catching the corner of his mouth. “But in all seriousness, you’re the person I trust the most. I know you’re not going to hurt me, and… I think that if anyone can work me through this anxiety, it’s you.”

“It’s okay if you’re anxious.”

“It’s not okay with _me._ I don’t want to be anxious around you.” A little chuckle shook him, and he gave Jisung another kiss, fully on the lips this time. “I feel good right now, though. I’m really happy.”

 _He trusts me this much? I’m not going to break that trust, then. Not for anything. I’m going to do everything right._ Jisung gave Chenle a little squeeze, feeling the smaller boy nuzzle into his shoulder. “Me, too. Like… _beyond_ happy. Thank you for trusting me, hyung.”

Chenle pulled back a bit, and Jisung shivered when he felt his thumb trace the line of his jaw. His hand trembled a bit, and he steadied it by cupping Jisung’s cheek. “You’re so pretty, Jisungie.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cuz it’s dark in here.”

“Hush.” Chenle giggled, but something about it felt different. It gave Jisung chills, and before he could even think about what to say, Chenle went on: “I’m not tired. Do you… want to kiss a little bit?”

 _Electricity._ Jisung didn’t know what to do with this feeling, which started in his chest and spread to _everywhere;_ all he could do was seek out Chenle’s lips, find his nose instead, laugh awkwardly, reconfigure. Even the imperfect moments were perfection, and the times they got it right— _euphoria._ There was nothing and _no one_ that he wanted more.

XXXV.

Waking up with Jisung had been a dream: Chenle’s arms around his waist, his head on his chest, soothed by the slow and quiet repetition of his breaths. Chenle shifted carefully to look at his face. His eyes were swollen from sleep, and his lips, which had been so dreamily soft and gentle the night before, were chapped from kissing. (Still, the first thing that Jisung did when he drifted awake was grab Chenle for a kiss, and it was just as wonderful with chapped lips and morning breath.)

But Jisung had a photo shoot at 10 AM, which meant that he needed to rush home so he could shower, shave, and change. _That_ was the hard part. “I promise, I won’t make you wait three weeks to see me again,” he half joked, hating how his voice quivered as he spoke. “Call me tonight? If you want?”

“I will want,” Jisung confirmed cheekily, snatching a final kiss on his way out the door. “Have a good day! Love you!” He left, got into his manager’s car out front, and once more Chenle felt empty.

“Empty?” Jisung’s voice repeated into his ear later, with a frown that Chenle swore he could hear. “That’s no good… how long are you stuck at home for? I wish I could visit more often…”

Chenle sighed, rolling onto his back in the middle of his mattress and throwing his arm over his head. “The plan was to sit out for a month. I have to meet with the CEO next week and let him know how therapy is going,” Chenle explained softly, chest feeling heavy. It was late, and he was trying to talk quietly, to keep his mother from hearing him through the wall. “Honestly, therapy is going great… but it’s making me think that I’d be hurting myself if I chose to stay. I want to ask for my contract to be terminated, but I don’t quite know what I’m going to say…”

“Ah. That’s exactly how I feel,” Jisung admitted quietly. “I want to talk to my company about dissolving my contract somehow— I even considered telling them I’m gay to make them fire me, but I just don’t know if I have the nerve to go through with it.”

Chenle winced. That was true desperation— coming out would follow him forever, and if he wanted to return to acting, it might very well destroy him. “Ask for a hiatus first,” he suggested meekly. “Tell them that you need it for your health. It might be a good time for you to go into treatment, Jisungie… because otherwise, if you’re working, it might be hard to find the time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Jisung said, his voice sounding somehow muffled, like it was further from the phone than before. “I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously, I like my counselor,” Chenle insisted, with a tone that he hoped was bright. Truthfully, it was _hard,_ and he wasn’t always able to talk about the things that he needed to. Sometimes he left the office feeling worse than he’d went in, and sometimes he got home so drained and disheartened that he needed to nap it off. _But I feel like I’ve made progress, too. I was able to sleep beside Jisung all night, and I woke up next to him without freaking out. Doesn’t that sound like a step to recovery?_ “I feel better,” he added in a whisper. “And I want _you_ to feel better. Don’t you?”

“Do you want the truth?” Jisung asked softly. Chenle didn’t even know how to answer, _couldn’t_ answer; one seconds, two seconds, three seconds passed, all of them bristling with discomfort. “I never envisioned myself getting help, hyung. I never envisioned myself getting better.”

“So what did you envision?”

Jisung laughed, without humor. “Burning bright and dying young. No life, no problems. Seems easiest.”

That was along the lines of what Chenle expected to hear, but it didn’t make it any easier for him to hear. His throat immediately felt tight, and he blinked hard to keep his tears at bay. “Doesn’t seem easiest for me, though.”

“Yeah. I thought about that, too.”

“So— how can you talk about it like it’s _nothing?”_ Chenle nearly demanded. “It’s not nothing to me. It matters a _lot_ to me.”

Silence. Absolute silence. It made Chenle’s skin crawl.

 _“Jisung._ Answer me.”

“I’m trying to. I just don’t know what to say.” The tremble in Jisung’s voice was completely foreign to Chenle, but he knew that it had to be tears. His free hand clenched, muscles tensed with his impossible desire to hug Jisung close, _squeeze_ him, keep them together.

“Say you’ll get better! _I’m_ trying to get better,” Chenle argued, his own voice shaking with the effort of keeping calm. “It sucks, but I know that if I don’t try, we can’t be together. And if you don’t try… we _really_ can’t be together, because you won’t _be_ here anymore.”

“What if I can’t get better, hyung?” Jisung paused, hiccuped. “The anorexia started when I was seventeen, but the _problems_ started when I was in elementary school. Over ten years ago. What if I’m too fucked up after all this time?”

“You’re not fucked up beyond fixing. I truly don’t think that _anybody_ is. My therapist told me that our brains are the most resilient when we’re young. They’re still elastic— not set in their ways yet. This is the best time to make a change. You’re so much stronger than you think you are.”

It would probably take some time to sink in. This time, Chenle endured the silence and resisted the urge to press for a response. At last, several seconds later, between unsteady breaths, Jisung gave his answer: “It might take me a really long time.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

“I might relapse.”

“That’s okay. I’ll help you.”

“I might not ever be better.”

Chenle smiled weakly. Jisung was just as stubborn as always. He should have known to expect this. “We could sit here all night going through ‘maybe’s, but my answer is always going to stay the same. I’ll still love you if you don’t succeed… but I think you can do it. And I think you owe it to yourself to try.”

Jisung sobbed quietly, and it made Chenle’s heart squeeze with empathy— but he found words more quickly this time: “I want to hug you. I want to hug you so badly right now. Can we see each other tomorrow night, hyung?”

“Yeah. I’ll ask my mom if I can come back over to your place, maybe cook for you again. But in return… promise me that you’ll give it thought, Jisungie. Because I can’t… _I can’t_ just watch you die.”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Chenle rolled back onto his side at last, grabbing the nearest pillow and squeezing it with all his might. Nothing like his Jisung, but it made him feel the tiniest bit better. _Tomorrow, I’ll hold the real thing._ The thought made him finally relent against his tears, and he knew there was no hiding it. “I want to hug you, too. Like, you have _no_ idea.”

“Will you sing to me, hyung?”

 _“Now?”_ Chenle clarified in disbelief. “I’m crying. I’m gonna sounds like shit.”

“Not to me.”

Chenle sighed. Arguing wasn’t worth the effort. Besides— he hadn’t sang a single note since the start of his hiatus, he hadn’t _wanted_ to until this moment. _I want singing to feel as good as it used to._ And so he sang: not one of his own songs, or even one Jisung would know, but one of the Mandarin lullabies he could remember his father singing to him when he was a child. _Come to think of it, I should call my dad tomorrow and fill him in. Something tells me he would like Jisung, too._

“You sound beautiful,” Jisung whispered when he was done, almost as though scared to intrude on the moment. “Crying or not. Will you teach me the words someday, hyung?”

 _Someday_ was vague— but if Jisung were still planning on being around _someday,_ then that was a victory, in Chenle’s book. “Of course I will, love. Anything you want.”

XXXVI.

“Are you serious right now, Park Jisung?!”

“Mmph.” Jisung was so disoriented that even Joohyun’s horrified shriek didn’t make him scramble out of bed. He rubbed his eyes, taking a moment to survey his surroundings: he’d dozed off in his clothes, skinny jeans and a turtleneck sweater, with his face resting directly on the screen of his iPad.

Chenle had fallen asleep around 2 AM, but Jisung had been… _unsettled._ Closing his eyes, laying there in silence, his head bouncing all around the room with ideas. _I’m going to get better, or I’m going to die. I might as well die. No, I have to get better. To get better, I have to quit my job. I can’t quit my job. Holy shit. I’m going to end up homeless, living under a bridge somewhere, when Chenle inevitably dumps me._

It was too much. Finally, he’d turned back to the internet— “eating disorder treatment centers in seoul”, he’d searched, with his fingers shaking. Any chance that he had, it started with getting his body in order, keeping Chenle’s faith in him strong.

If Chenle believed he could do it, then hell, he’d try.

“Get up! What are you waiting for? I’ve been waiting outside for you, and you’re _sleeping!”_ Joohyun threw the blankets off of him, pulling him towards the edge of the bed with a furious yank of his leg. “You’re not just representing yourself, you’re representing me and the whole company and it’s _not professional_ to stumble in late and looking like shit, do you _understand that?”_

“Ow! _Don’t—”_ Jisung kicked his leg out of her grasp, curling himself back into a ball. He was tired, so tired— exhaustion had sunk into every one of his muscles, and he just— _couldn’t._ “I’m sorry, noona. I can’t go.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go?!” Joohyun’s voice raised in irritation, but then he heard her taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “What do you need? Are you hungover again? I’ll bring you some medicine, just—”

“Noona, I’m going to quit. I can’t do this anymore. I seriously can’t do this another day. I already told my mom, and—”

“Jisung, you’re _under contract,”_ Joohyun interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. She seemed to realize the gravity in his voice, the severity of his emotions, and it made his heart ache with guilt. _I’m creating trouble for you. I’m sorry, noona._ “You have a contract with the agency to do the jobs you’re assigned. And the company has a contract with High Cut magazine that promises you’ll be there in _half an hour_ to appear in their photo spread. The company has a contract next week that promises you to Non-No magazine in Japan. The company—”

Jisung closed his eyes. More sleep. Just a little more sleep. _And Chenle. Chenle would be nice. I’ll ask him what treatment center sounds the best. I still don’t know how I’m going to afford it, but the most important thing is that he can visit me—_

“Jisung, _please._ Focus.”

“Noona, I— I’m really sick. I have an eating disorder, and I need to go get help, or else— I’m worried that I’m going to die really soon.” The words took effort to form, and with his secret out in the open, he felt hollow, like a deflated balloon.

“Oh…” _She doesn’t know what to say. Neither do I._ The silence was thick, palpable. “I— I always wondered,” she confessed at last, nearly a whisper. “But— listen, I need to make some phone calls for damage control, okay? If I say you collapsed… hm…” Clearly, she was torn between duty and feelings, and when he peeked at her through half-opened eyes, he could see her fiddling with her phone. “I’m going to step into the kitchen for a moment. I promise, I’m not leaving. I’m going to call the company and make you some tea. When I come back… we can talk, if you want. Sounds like you need to talk.”

 _Understatement of my fucking career._ Jisung chose to say nothing, instead feeling for his phone in the sheets. He’d never gotten around to plugging it in, it was nearly dead, but it was enough to text Chenle: _“looking into treatment centers today”_

It was so early, it was hard to know whether or not Chenle would even be awake; but the response was very nearly instantaneous: _“Good!!! Jisungie I’m so proud of you… so so so proud_ 💗💗💗” _“Thank you.” “This is all I want for you, to be healthy.”_

Jisung felt choked up all of a sudden— glad that they were only texting, otherwise he would have certainly lost his composure, and his resolve to say what he was about to say: _“I want us to be together for a really long time.”_

_“I hope you keep feeling that way. I want that, too.”_

_“I hope you don’t get tired of me.”_

“😂 _I guess I gotta keep telling you that that’s not possible, until you get your confidence up… but that’s okay. I’ll keep telling you, then.”_

The words swam in front of Jisung’s face, and he let his phone fall out of his hands onto the mattress beside him. Not even nine in the morning, and he was already an emotional wreck. How did Chenle keep making him cry like this? It felt like he hadn’t cried in _years_ before this, and now— 

“Jisung, are you okay?” Joohyun’s voice from the doorway startled him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to wipe his tears. “You look feverish. Maybe we should go to the hospital right now.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just crying because I love my boyfriend.”

“Your— _what?”_ Joohyun was stunned into silence, but only for a moment, before she laughed quietly. “And is this boyfriend’s name Zhong Chenle, by any chance? Don’t worry, I won’t spread the word— but I found it very suspect that you suddenly went from not giving a shit about K-pop idols to stanning Dream, which is objectively one of the worst boy groups I’ve ever heard.”

“They suck, but he’s the _best.”_ Instant catharsis. Jisung couldn’t even articulate how long he’d been wanting to gush to someone, to _anyone._ Finally, he had no fear— and he had someone to listen. “I never had a reason to get better before, but now I have someone who would miss me if I were gone. And that’s—” _That’s something that can’t be put into words._

“Plenty of people would miss you! Your parents. Your fans. Not to mention, me.”

Jisung smiled through his tears. Ten years his senior, and yet so naive. “You’ll understand someday, when _you_ have a boyfriend,” he replied sagely, and despite the ruins of his life still towering around them, they both burst into laughter.

XXXVII.

_“If you think you need to leave, then we’ll be sad to see you go. But I understand that your health has to come first. We’ll have our lawyers reach out to you with a settlement.”_

The pity in the CEO’s face was all transparent, at least in Chenle’s eyes. He wasn’t sad to see him go— he was _pissed_ that he’d have to deliver the bad news to the fans, and “settlement” was barely concealed code for “payment”. Chenle wouldn’t be able to escape his contract without penalty. He was thankful that his mother had thought to call her own lawyer to make the negotiations, and she’d met with him and his mother to make a gameplan.

_“If possible, I want to be allowed to keep singing here in Korea. I don’t care what they want me to pay. If I can continue my career, I’d like to.”_

The one stipulation that the lawyer had given him: _“Don’t contact the members while the negotiations are in progress. It’ll make things easier that way.”_

Chenle didn’t need to be told twice. His contact with the outside world was already limited, by choice: he didn’t want to talk anyone except his parents, his therapist, and Jisung. And even then— he couldn’t even bring himself to reference the situation with his family. He was quite certain that his mom had beaten herself up over it enough, and the last thing he wanted was to dwell on his weakness in front of his father.

Chenle was ready to wash his hands of Dream, and Dream was probably ready to wash their hands of him— and maybe there would come a day when he could look at their faces, or hear their songs, without feeling sick to his stomach. He could only hope.

“—would be best for you to leave.”

It was the fact that his mother was speaking Korean that made Chenle initially pause. He’d assumed, hearing her talking from his bedroom, that she was on the phone with someone back home; venturing out into the kitchen, though, it was easier to make out the words.

“I’m not supposed to be here. I took a cab all this way to see him, because he blocked my phone number. Can’t you ask if he’ll talk to me for just a minute?” Donghyuck’s voice made him freeze. The frustration was all too familiar— bordering on desperation. Something about it made him shudder.

“Chenle is asleep. I’ll tell him that you stopped by, and if he wants to, he’ll call you. What did you say your name was?”

Chenle closed his eyes. He could go back to his room in silence, buy some time, but he wouldn’t be able to stop wondering. He grit his teeth, took a deep breath. Then he stepped into the living room.

“You can let him in. It’s okay.”

His mother jumped at the sound of his voice— but instinctively, she stepped back, and for the first time in weeks, he looked Lee Donghyuck in the face. His hair was dyed back to brown for their upcoming promotions, he’d lost some weight in his face, and his eyes were ringed with ominous dark circles. He didn’t smile— he met Chenle’s gaze for a moment, and then looked down. _Intimidated. What in the world is going on?_

“What’s going on, hyung?”

“I was hoping we could talk. It’ll be quick.” His eyes flickered to Chenle’s mother for just a moment, discreetly. “Alone?”

“Not if it’s about me returning to Dream.”

“It’s not. I swear. But it’s important.”

Chenle wanted to say no— but something about saying no felt wrong. Donghyuck had never been good to him, but Chenle could be bigger than that… and in the process, he could prove that he was fearless. “Come in, then,” he agreed softly. While Donghyuck removed his shoes, Chenle managed a smile for his mother’s sake, and assured her in Mandarin: “It’s going to be fine. He’s harmless.”

“If you’re sure,” she said simply, smiling back in a way that just about broke his heart. It was the same thing she’d said when he wanted to stay in Korea and debut. _If you’re sure, I’ll support you._ And how well had that turned out?

It felt so freaking _wrong_ to have Donghyuck in his room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of his bed. As trainees, they’d dormed together, and Donghyuck had never come in his room even then. Not a single one of them had visited Chenle in his apartment, even Mark. Without thinking, he grabbed Jisung’s hoodie, slung around his bedpost, the one that still carried his boyfriend’s scent. Didn’t put it on, just held it tight to his chest as he sat down in his desk chair.

“Are you doing okay now?” Donghyuck’s question was phrased bluntly as usual, but his tone was softer than Chenle could remember.

“Did you come here to ask me that?”

“I mean, kind of.” Donghyuck’s jaw set as he spoke, betraying his irritation. “Nobody’s heard from you, and after that shit… I don’t know. We all worried. Is it that hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. You never felt like you really cared before. That’s all.” Old habits died hard; Chenle’s eyes lowered, hovering around Donghyuck’s knees instead of his face. “Yeah. I’m doing better, I guess. I mean— I’m not wanting to hurt myself anymore…” Anxiety squeezed his chest, and he brought Jisung’s hoodie up to his face to hide in. He wasn’t ready to talk about this yet, he realized— _breathe in quick, breathe out slow. As slow as possible._ Something to focus on, anyway. Lately, it almost always worked.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Donghyuck’s response was so instantaneous, so void of expression, that Chenle had to fight the urge to roll his eyes— but then he looked back to Donghyuck’s face and was shocked to see tears, silent tears, rimming his eyes. He had nothing to hold, nothing to hide behind, and Chenle wasn’t sure why, but he felt suddenly sick to his stomach. “Chenle… when Jaesuk hyung was fired, I didn’t feel any particular way. I didn’t feel anything for him. Jeno heard from one of the staff members that your parents demanded it, and when he told us… I mean, I figured you threw a tantrum because you didn’t like him, but I couldn’t actually be upset. And it bothered me for _years,_ because Jeno and Jaemin and Mark all thought it was so unfair, and I thought… _nothing._ Like, what kind of bad person did that make me?” Chenle didn’t answer, he didn’t know how, and Donghyuck sat in nagging silence for a few seconds with his hands pressed against his eyeballs. Finally, he continued, “After you told us what he did, it was like— I don’t know, like you flipped a switch in my brain. I started dreaming about it. Like— this one time that he told me the dance evaluations were nothing but a popularity contest, where the execs only pass the trainees they like. And he asked me if I wanted to know how to make him like me.”

Horror swept over him like a sickness, making Chenle feel cold from head to toe. He could almost picture it. Donghyuck telling him that he wasn’t sure about this, like Chenle had. Donghyuck closing his eyes and trying not to feel the hand slipping down his shorts, like Chenle had. _I don’t want to picture it. Don’t want to think about it. Oh my god oh my god—_

“I don’t know what really happened to me, but— every time, there are these weird, specific details, and— I don’t think my brain is making them up. But the company doesn’t want me to go into counseling until after this comeback, and I can’t even _sleep_ this way.”

 _Slow down your breaths,_ Chenle told himself. It took a conscious effort. “So— so what are you thinking of doing about it?” he asked, his voice quivering.

“Renjun and Jeno think I need to wait. We’re right in the middle of recording another mini-album, and Jeno’s written like _all_ the lyrics, and—” Donghyuck let out a sharp sigh of frustration, one that Chenle knew all too well, except usually there weren’t tears dripping down his nose. “Jaemin didn’t say much of anything, I think he’s too stupid and too privileged to have an opinion. Mark hyung… Mark feels terrible. Blames himself for seeing weird things and not ever stepping in. He’s been crying every night since I told him. He said— whatever I have to do, whatever _we_ have to do, he’s going to support us.”

Donghyuck reached out over the narrow space between them, gripping Chenle’s hand out of nowhere. Donghyuck had tiny hands, soft hands. Chenle had never noticed that before.

“If you’re content where you are, I’m not going to try and ruin that for you. You’ve worked hard, and you deserve whatever happiness you’re able to find. But— if you’re like _me,_ Chenle, and you want revenge? Me, you, and Mark. We can burn this whole fucking company to the ground.”

Wasn’t it what Chenle had always fantasized about? Secretly, in the back of his mind— oh, he was scared of Jaesuk, but it would have been so _sweet_ to watch the CEO squirm in front of everyone. _I told you I was raped, and you told me to keep it a secret. Never reported it to the police. Never even followed through on getting us counseling._ He closed his eyes, now, trying to picture saying it to Jaesuk. _You raped me, and I’m not just going to let you live your life happily, pretending you didn’t._

“I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know yet. I—” Chenle gave Donghyuck’s hand a tight squeeze, which seemed to surprise him. “I have a lawyer. Let’s meet with her, the three of us. Let’s talk about what we can do. But— the others—”

“The others can burn with the company, if that’s what they want. This is about _us,”_ Donghyuck interrupted, wiping his cheeks with his free hand. “Unblock my number, okay? Seriously. I have to get back, I’m supposed to be practicing right now, but… I _expect_ to hear from you, no matter what.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” Chenle stood up, finally feeling secure enough to set Jisung’s hoodie aside— and when Donghyuck stood, too, the older boy pulled Chenle into a quick, tight hug. Plenty of times, they’d put their arms around each other for pictures, but without the cameras around, it felt like something completely different. _Warm._ It nearly made him cry all over again, but somehow, he was able to stop himself.

_Breathe._

XXXVIII.

Jisung was never a jumpy person, but sitting in the car with Joohyun that morning, he couldn’t sit still. Around them, the suburbs and small towns that whizzed by felt like wilderness in comparison to Seoul.

“You’re not even my manager anymore. I don’t know why you’re doing this for me,” he blurted out at one point. “And it’s so early. Oh my god, I’m so sorry to put you through this.”

“Put _me_ through this?” Joohyun repeated in amusement, her eyes focused on the road. “You’re the one that’s going through it, not me. Giving you a ride is the least I can do. Besides, I’ve been your manager since you were just a little peanut. I almost feel like your mom.”

“Kinda wish you were my mom.”

“Oh my god, _stop.”_

“All right, be quiet, noona. I’m going to call Chenle before I do this stupid thing.” Jisung grinned, ignoring Joohyun’s swat at his knee as he found Chenle in his contacts. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d be able to see or talk to his boyfriend after this point, between the rules of the treatment center and Chenle’s own ongoing legal battle. Things were about to be tough— _but things have_ been _tough. I can do this._

Chenle answered on the very first ring, and didn’t waste time with formalities: “What’s going on, Jisungie? Are you there?”

“Almost. A few minutes away. It’s really pretty out here,” Jisung commented softly, still focused on what was out the window. “I can’t wait for you to come see me.”

“Of course, _baobei.”_ The pet name was becoming familiar, and yet it still made Jisung’s heart stop and start again, like a jolt of electricity. “The day you’re ready, I’ll hop on a train to come see you— but focus on yourself first.”

Jisung’s heart squeezed with sorrow. He’d miss the text conversations that had become a fixture of his every day— _“No, you go to sleep first. No,_ you _go to sleep first. No, I can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss!”_ (And then Chenle would send a picture of his puckered lips— and it was stupid and embarrassing, but yeah, Jisung would kiss the screen. Somehow, it made him feel better.)

“Thank you for supporting me, hyung. I’m sorry that I worry you all the time. I’m— I’m _going_ to get better.” Jisung spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. He didn’t necessarily believe it, not 100%, but he wanted to show Chenle his best face. _You have so much hope. For you, I think I can do it._ Jisung’s eyes stung, and he blinked hard to keep it together. “We’re here. I need to turn my phone off before I go in. Hey— you stay healthy, too, yeah? I know you’re stressed, but…”

“Let me be the worrier. I’m going to be just fine,” Chenle assured him with a quiet giggle. “I love you. So, so _so_ much. Take good care of yourself.”

“I love you, too!”

“No. Let it be the last thing I say before you hang up, Sungie. So it’s fresh in your mind.”

Jisung had to laugh, thankful that Joohyun could only hear one side of the conversation. “Fine. Okay. I’m ready.”

“I love you. _Saranghaeyo. Wo ai ni.”_

Jisung grinned to himself. He knew how to say “I love you” in about ten other languages that Chenle hadn’t used, but he’d save that for when he got back. Obediently, he hung up— but brat that he was, he couldn’t keep from texting Chenle a big, long string of hearts.

“Aww. You guys are cute,” Joohyun commented, smiling softly to herself. “Seriously, you make me wish I had a boyfriend. It’s not fair.” When the car was parked, she unbuckled her seatbelt, and he glanced up from her phone in surprise; he’d expected her to pull up to the curb and kick him out of the car, not come inside with him. Not that he was complaining. “All ready, then?”

“Just— one more thing,” Jisung said reluctantly, pulling his contact list back up. He wasn’t purposefully stalling (even though he _really_ didn’t want to go inside); it really did seem appropriate to send one more _quick_ message to the other person who was making this recovery possible, the one who had found it in their heart to set him free.

 _To: Dad_ _  
_ _I’m going in now. Thank you. Love you._

“All right. _Now_ I’m ready,” Jisung announced gravely, holding down the button to power off his phone. _Goodbye, old friend._ It would be a long few weeks without it— but if there were anything he _didn’t_ need following him into treatment, it was his Instagram comment section.

The facility wasn’t exactly what he expected: it didn’t have the cold, clinical feel of a hospital, or the smell of disinfectant in the air. The receptionist was a young woman, somewhere between his own age and Joohyun’s, with bright red lips and a smile that squished her eyes into two friendly crescents. “Hi! Are you here to check in? Hold on one moment— I’ll grab you an intake form.”

When she turned her back, Joohyun sighed. “I think this is the end of the road for me, Jisung. Are you going to be okay from here? Anything else you need?”

“Hm. No. I think I have everything I need.” _Why_ did he feel so miserably emotional, saying goodbye to his _manager,_ of all people? He quickly pulled Joohyun in for a hug: after all, she couldn’t judge him for tearing up if her face was buried in his shoulder. Thankfully, she hugged him back, and the moment was not nearly as awkward as it could have been. “Thank you again, noona.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” she replied softly as she pulled away. The dewy gleam of her own eyes made him feel _slightly_ better. “I want to hear about all the progress you’re making. And I want to see you healthy when I come pick you up.”

“Just wait. I’m going to get jacked as hell so I can be a _Men’s Health_ cover model once I’m back into acting.” Jisung grinned, Joohyun rolled her eyes. So much had changed, and yet so much had stayed the same.

“Ready?” the receptionist behind the desk passed him a clipboard; clearly, she’d overheard him, and her cheeks had a tinge of pink leftover from laughing behind her hand. “I know it’s difficult, but don’t worry. We’re going to take great care to make you comfortable here.”

It was intimidating, taking the clipboard over to sit down and fill out, his one paltry suitcase in tow. _Recovery isn’t easy, and the first steps are the hardest ones._ Chenle had told him that, how difficult that first appointment had been for him. But Chenle hadn’t given up, and neither would he.

_“When, in your opinion, did your disordered eating begin?”_

Jisung took a deep breath, put pen to paper, and began to write his story.

XXXIX.

 _“Dream Rejects_ 👏👏👏” _Groupchat_

 _babysun22: should the three of us get together today before we meet with the lawyer next week?_ _  
_ _dreamingcl: can’t today… getting boyfriend back_ 💖 _let’s meet over the weekend_   
_Mkl_99: oooooooo_ _  
_ _babysun22: lame and gross_ _  
_ _babysun22: i feel attacked_ _  
_ _Mkl_99: when do we get to meet this mystery boyfriend anyway_ _  
_ _dreamingcl: not sure. hes a little shy…_ _  
_ _babysun22: can’t even picture what kind of guy you would date_ _  
_ _babysun22: i bet he’s a weirdo_ _  
_ _babysun22: no offense_   
dreamingcl: ………

In two months of treatment, Chenle had seen Jisung face-to-face a whopping three times. Jisung could call him, but it was harder for him to call Jisung, and texting was completely off the table. No surprise, it was excruciating— and for the first couple weeks, Chenle was worried that it might break them.

But limited communication made the moments they shared all the more precious. Chenle would spend the time in between phone calls thinking about the things that he really wanted to say, and when that anticipated call came, he wouldn’t waste any time on small talk.

_I miss you. I love you. I spent twenty years not knowing that you exist, and now my life feels bleak without you beside me. Please get better, because I never want to do this again._

Jisung’s progress was slow but steady. Two steps forward, one step back, again and again. Some days, he was fully confident; other days, he was sullen and defeated. “It’s so hard for me to be here,” he’d told Chenle once, on his first in-person visit, his face buried in Chenle’s shoulder as they sat on his stiff little cot. “It’s _hard._ Not just the eating, but the therapy. Talking about everything. It’s fucking miserable.”

“You’re doing so well, though, Jisungie. I know it’s hard, but I can see the progress you’re making. You look healthier already.”

Jisung had smiled wryly. “My mind hasn’t quite caught up with my body,” he’d admitted softly, squeezing Chenle’s hand. “But don’t worry, I’m here for the long haul. My father is paying for this opportunity, and I’m not throwing it away. And besides… you still need me.” He’d nuzzled Chenle’s neck, kissed it softly, with an innocence and fragility that made Chenle fall in love with him all the more. “And I know that when I come back, this is what’s waiting for me. I’d do anything for this.”

And he did. Driving up to that treatment facility for the last time, hopefully the last time _ever,_ Chenle’s chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. Preparation for their lawsuit was going well; Chenle’s relationships with his ex-groupmates, especially Donghyuck, were better than he ever could have imagined them. He was going to confront his demons, he was going to find some kind of closure— and he was going to have Jisung next to him, strong and healthy, to give him courage.

The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when Jisung burst through the hospital doors, running awkwardly with his suitcase, and _damn,_ Chenle teared up the instant Jisung was close enough for his face to register. His figure was still thin, but his gaunt cheeks had filled out, and Chenle swore, it changed his entire face. His eyes were brighter, his every movement more energized, and when he slid into the passenger seat, he kissed Chenle so suddenly and eagerly that Chenle’s foot slid off the brake and nearly rolled them into the curb.

“Hey! This is my mom’s car, you know!”

“Ack. Sorry. Nice save, though.” Jisung grinned sheepishly, with the forethought to shift the gear stick to “park” before kissing him again. “I fucking missed you, that’s all.”

“I fucking missed you, too.” Chenle felt himself blushing; seeing each other in person again brought back the jitters of a first date, and his hand trembled as he reached up to brush Jisung’s overgrown hair out of his eyes. “Wow…”

“My face is huge now? I know.”

“I was actually going to say that you look amazing. Like, you glow now.” Chenle smiled, giving him that kiss on the tip of the nose that he’d been fantasizing about for two weeks. “I’m never going to take kissing you for granted ever again. You know, I got permission to keep the car for the night… I was hoping you’d let me sleep over.”

 _“Let_ you?” Jisung repeated in amusement. He was quiet a moment, uncharacteristically shy as he finally turned to buckle himself in. “To be honest? I planned on asking you if this was still something you wanted to do. Like, ‘cuz it’s been so long…”

Chenle felt both his eyebrows shoot up, a little pulse of pain in his chest as it dawned on him, what his boyfriend was implying. “‘This?’ Like, being together? Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“It’s not that I think you _wouldn’t,”_ Jisung amended, backtracking with a panicked rush of color to his cheeks. “But, I mean… I’ve taken a long time, and we haven’t talked much, and I’m sure a lot has happened. You’ve been working really hard, and I’ve been… here.”

“Working really hard,” Chenle corrected, taking Jisung’s larger hand in his own and squeezing it tight. “And earning more of my adoration than you could possibly know, and making me count down every day until you were ready to come home.”

“I’m just saying.”

“And _I’m_ just saying,” Chenle added on, as sternly as he dared. “You’re not the only selfish one. If you want me to break up with you, you’re gonna have to actually earn it. Being away, taking care of yourself and being awesome, is not going to make me change my mind. I’m too proud of you to do anything besides love you. Try harder.”

Jisung grinned, dark eyes sparkling with unfallen tears. And there was something about Jisung in tears, good or bad, that made Chenle’s eyes sting and tickle in kind. “Guess I’m just gonna have to disappoint you more,” he replied cheekily, cupping Chenle’s cheeks and giving him another passionate kiss— one that would have made him embarrassed at the possibility of being seen, if they weren’t so far from Seoul. “Honestly… I could really use some food that’s not hospital-cafeteria quality. Will you make me bulgogi? Wait, no— seafood. Wait, _no— pancakes._ And you can tell me everything I’ve missed while I’ve been gone.”

Jisung really did glow. Seeing it made Chenle feel like he was glowing, too. Maybe they just… _did that_ to each other, brought out each other’s very best light. He could just see how beautiful they must have looked side by side, like twin rays of sunshine.

XXXX.

Silence between them was rarely a bad thing. Silences, like words, had their own little nuances: hair pets, nose kisses, gentle fingertips tracing over pounding hearts. Every so often, Jisung’s skipped a beat— which, his doctor had assured him, was perfectly normal when you were on edge.

“Y’know?” Chenle spoke out of nowhere, and whatever it was, Jisung was already on-board. Sleepiness did something absolutely _precious_ to Chenle’s accent, and Jisung wanted nothing more than for his boyfriend to talk him to sleep. Once again, his index finger traced a practiced line from Jisung’s jaw, down his neck to his sternum, across his collarbone to his shoulders. “All those fans of yours that are so in love with you, none of them get to see the very best parts of you like I do.”

“That’s perverted.”

“Your freckles, Sungie.” Chenle he burst into laughter a second later, when the joke had fully dawned on him, pressing his forehead against Jisung’s shoulder. “In your pictures, they’re always covered in makeup or buffed out with photoshop, but they’re literally one of my favorite things in the universe.” He kissed Jisung’s bare shoulder, making him blush; autumn was coming to an end, the nights were getting chilly again, and he was happy to have his space heater sleeping over more nights than not. He was on the verge of sleep already, with the lights still on.

“Jisungie? You’re not sleeping, are you?”

There was a solemnity to Chenle’s voice that rattled Jisung’s bliss, and he wrapped a reassuring arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “Not yet. What’s up, hyung?”

“Remember when you asked me if I was going to go back to China with my parents? And I said I didn’t know?”

Jisung’s grip on his boyfriend tightened a little. “Yeah. I do…” If he did, Jisung would be devastated, there was no getting around that— but something told him that they would be strong enough, no matter where they were. _Things like this, they don’t just end._

“I think my mom’s been here in Korea with me for long enough. It makes me feel guilty, especially that I keep my parents apart,” he confessed softly, his breath a pleasant tickle across Jisung’s chest. “I know she still worries, and she probably always will, but— I told her that she should go back to Shanghai and be with my dad. Now that the lawsuit is over and I’ve found a new company, I think I’m well enough to take care of myself.” He chuckled. “Besides, I have Donghyuck and Mark hyung. And I have you. I think you and I are a good team, don’t you?”

It was enough to make Jisung’s throat feel tight with emotion. For any other couple, it was just a question. But for Jisung and Chenle— for a couple who had started out anxious about even kissing— laying in bed together, bare skin warm against bare skin, talking about a future taking care of each other, _it was a lot._ As far as Jisung was concerned, Chenle’s trust was the very highest compliment, and once again, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t ever take that for granted.

“What do you want to do, then? Get an apartment together?” Jisung questioned, unable to keep from grinning like a fool.

“I mean… we just need one bed and one bedroom. I could just move in here,” Chenle suggested, suddenly shy. “But it might be nice to find a new start— an apartment that we can just fill with our own memories.”

Jisung closed his eyes. Perfect, _perfect._ A new start was everything he wanted, and he could see it all before them in a split second. Waking up together, drinking tea and making breakfast with the sunrise. Chenle leaving for his company building, Jisung leaving for the TV studio, their days separate but their evenings together. Taking care of each other, _recharging_ each other. Normalcy, only worrying about the things right in front of them. No matter how brief this might be, no matter the possibility that they would someday crash and burn— 

Chenle giggled. “I can hear your heart racing. I hope that’s a good sign…”

“Yeah! I was just thinking about how nice it’ll be, a place just for us. We can move after you re-debut— if everything goes as planned, I’ll be done shooting this drama in December,” Jisung predicted, unable to keep himself from smiling. “Right around our one-year anniversary, too. We should take a little mini-honeymoon.”

“Where do you think?”

“Wherever you want! Tokyo? Oh, or Hawaii? Somewhere warm?” Jisung nuzzled into Chenle’s hair. “Or right here. Honestly, right here is pretty good, too.”

“If you’re there, I’m there,” Chenle promised, chuckling again and running his fingers adoringly through Jisung’s hair. It made Jisung think of his own question from months ago: _If you could go anywhere, to get away from it all, where would you go?_ The answer, sappy as it was, was wherever his boyfriend was.

“Anywhere with you is a honeymoon.”

 _“Ugh._ Why do you have to say things like that?” Chenle feigned disgust for a moment, but he couldn’t for long. His face, without a speck of makeup, shone like a sunbeam; his laughter, pure energy, pure light.


End file.
